Alright, so if you've just stumbled upon this story, it's part of a series. I would encourage you to read The Cosigner first, or none of this is going to make sense. Or don't. I'm not here to boss you around.
I've opted for a multiple POV approach that'll bounce fairly often across the pond, but hopefully not so much as to cause any sort of narrative whiplash. I'll try to stick to as few different characters as possible, but no promises.
Oh, and the Fantastic Beasts series is nebulously canon to this story, as in I'll be borrowing a few elements as inspiration but by no means remaining completely faithful to them. I've actually only seen the first one and found it moderately enjoyable. Jacob Kowalski is my boy. The Cursed Child (namely Astoria's blood thingie) has and will continue to be completely disregarded.
I think that's it. Read on.
Chapter One: Out With The Old
-MINERVA-
So fill to me the parting glass.
Good night and joy be to you all.
()
It was quite obvious to Minerva McGonagall that Cornelius Fudge was panicking. In fact, the only one under the impression that he looked to be keeping his cool seemed to be the Minister for Magic himself. His offensively green bowler hat had long been reduced to a shapeless cloth lump in his hands from the way he wrung and twisted the thing, and his forehead was absolutely drenched with a sheen of sweat that gleamed in the light of the chandelier illuminating the headmaster's office. Pacing left to right, the portly man withdrew from the pocket of his straining waistcoat a cloth which he used to mop his face, which despite his advancing years still looked round and babyish, owing mostly to the absolute dumbstruck expression it seemingly always wore as of late.
"Could we not just…revoke his travel permit?" Fudge asked, which Minerva thought was a ridiculous question. He was the Minister for Magic; did he not understand the limits of the laws he'd been tasked to uphold? "Or refuse to process his withdrawal from the school?"
"That would be a serious misuse of your powers and quite illegal, Minister," Albert Runcorn pointed out from his seat at the headmaster's desk. Tall, broad, and overall intimidating, Headmaster Runcorn was exactly the sort of person completely unsuited for the job. With close-cropped hair and a burly beard black as midnight, he was utterly unapproachable by even the bravest student, and that was before he opened his mouth. When he spoke, it was with a voice low and gravelly, a deep baritone that gave his words a grim sort of gravitas. "I understand that this is distressing, but I feel it would be unwise to go to such lengths. Doing so might paint him as a victim of further machinations, only yours this time."
"Yes, yes, you're right, Runcorn," Cornelius sighed, slumping back in his chair. "The public is going to have a field day with this once it gets out. Harry Potter, all but fleeing the country."
"Perhaps, Cornelius, you shouldn't have pushed so hard for him to rejoin the Triwizard Tournament and then allowed the Prophet to paint him as a coward when he exercised his right to refuse participation?" Minerva said, and Cornelius rolled his eyes.
"Oh, Minerva, you've made your feelings quite apparent on the matter, there's no sense retreading old ground," he said.
"This is exactly the sort of attitude that lost you your position of Deputy Headmistress, Minerva," Corban Yaxley said in his rumble of a voice. He smiled unpleasantly at Minerva, who fought the urge to turn him into a slug. The new Deputy Headmaster and Potions instructor was Exhibit A in the case of the DMLE's absolute incompetence. The worst sort of Death Eater and one of Voldemort's most loyal followers, he like Lucius Malfoy had been allowed to walk free due to a combination of threats, bribery, and outright lies. For his new job, he had shorn his long white-blond locks to a shorter and more businesslike look, which popped against the extravagant black robes he tended to favor.
"Now, Yaxley, there's no need for such unpleasant talk," Runcorn said, and it was a testament to Yaxley's respect for the man that he held his tongue. "The fact is, Minister, there's little I can do for you. Harry Potter is no longer a student at this school. He sent us for a copy of his student records and transcript, and he withdrew, effective at the start of second term."
"And now he's—fleeing the country!" Cornelius bemoaned, and Minerva sighed.
"There's no need to be so dramatic over the matter," she insisted. "Potter is very likely attending some manner of study-abroad program as part of his new school. It's unorthodox but hardly illegal."
"Be he is a Triwizard Champion!" Cornelius insisted.
"I hardly think he can represent this school when he's no longer a student here," Minerva said. "Besides which, Hogwarts has a champion already, and in case you haven't noticed, Cedric Diggory is in second place!"
"Come now, Minister," Runcorn said in placating tones. "It's unfortunate but hardly a tragedy."
"It is imperative that we maintain the status quo," Cornelius blustered, "that we make sure the people understand that Dumbledore's nonsense is just that. The nonsense of an old codger trying to keep us from interfering with his…his gambit to control our society!"
"You make him out to be some malicious puppet-master," Minerva accused him. "And act as though he delighted in what he's done. Albus Dumbledore made a number of mistakes in his treatment of those around him, but he never did so maliciously. His only concern has always been the well-being of our people, of our society."
"Are you defending the man?" Yaxley asked with an oily grin. "Minerva, I'm shocked."
"I would never condone his actions," Minerva said icily. "I'm only saying that to paint him as some schemer twisting his hands is going a step too far. And ignoring his dire warnings is unwise."
"Alright, Minerva," Runcorn said, standing and fixing Minerva with a severe expression. "You've been warned about this. I planned to keep you on as our Transfiguration professor due to your considerable experience and rapport with the children. But if you're going to continue this seditious talk, I can't allow you to spread this paranoia to the student body or your fellow professors."
"Oh, get on with it, then," Minerva spat.
"You're fired, Minerva," Runcorn said gravely. "I'm sorry it's come to this."
"I highly doubt that you are," Minerva said, glancing at the other two occupants of the office. Cornelius had a shocked but resigned expression on his face, while Yaxley was positively grinning at the development. "Cornelius. Don't say you weren't warned."
With that, she turned on her heel and strode from the office.
…
"It's mad, is what it is," Filius said, pacing angrily left to right while Minerva whipped her wand about her quarters, setting to packing away the room that had been her home for well over thirty years. "If Albus had simply sacked that surly bastard when the students made it quite clear they weren't having his teaching methods anymore, this whole thing could have been avoided. Now the Ministry's got their hooks in, and they won't rest until every honest teacher is out."
"Have they said anything to you yet?" Minerva asked him, and Filius grumbled.
"Not yet," he said, "but I don't imagine they'll abide a 'filthy half-breed' such as myself teaching here. Perhaps I could play up my association with the goblins. They're always eager to get along with the ones in charge of their gold."
"I'd appreciate it if you could do everything you can to stay aboard," Minerva insisted, sighing and slumping against her desk. "I was a fool, mouthing off like I did. Listening to Cornelius blather on just to hear himself speak, assure himself that he was in the right while those two just…let him bury his head in the sand."
"I've half a mind to march up there and tender my own resignation," Filius fumed.
"That's just what they want," Minerva cautioned him. "You'd be playing right into their hands, and you'd be playing right into his."
"Could he really be on his way to returning?" Filius asked, his tone not disbelieving but one simply of dread. "I shudder to think of it, Minerva. Of going through all of that all over again, when we've scarcely come back from his first rampage. Cornelius is a fool for denying it so completely, but…were I in his position, I might be tempted to do the same."
Minerva couldn't think of anything to say. What else was there? It was a horrible prospect but one that was breathing down their necks in a clear and present way. Before she could sink further into such grim imaginings, a knock sounded on her door.
"Minerva!" Pomona's voice sounded on the other side. "I've just heard!"
The door opened with a flick of Minerva's wand, and Pomona Sprout strode in, still wearing a muddied apron packed with gardening tools and a straw hat perched crookedly atop her mop of graying hair.
"I simply can't believe it!" she fussed, crossing the room and taking in the sight of Minerva's half-empty living quarters with dismay. "Oh, Minerva, you've been part of this school for so very long! I can't imagine this place without you!"
She looked near tears, and Minerva managed a small smile for the poor woman, reaching out and pulling her into a hug heedless of the dirty state of her attire. The two had been only a year apart during Hogwarts and extraordinarily close despite their differing houses. When Minerva had been hired on as the Transfiguration teacher, she had immediately vouched for Pomona and all but insisted to an amused but acquiescent Albus that she be hired to replace the retiring Professor Beery.
"There, there, Pomona," Minerva soothed the Herbology professor, who let a disbelieving laugh as she parted from Minerva.
"You've been sacked, and you're consoling me!" she wailed.
"As you're the one blubbering over it, it seems necessary," Minerva insisted, briskly spelling away the mud from her robes. "I've told Filius, and I'll tell you: Don't do anything so rash, like running up and resigning on my behalf. Hogwarts is going to need all the competent staff it can hold onto, lest this turn into a Ministry finishing school."
"It's well on its way already," Filius spat. "With its intrepid new leadership. I wouldn't be surprised if we see Lucius Malfoy taking your spot."
"I'd almost say Potter has the right of it," Pomona said with a shake of her head. "Starting up his own school. D'you think he's accepting applications?"
She said the last part in joking tones, but Minerva wondered if there wasn't something to that. Obviously, Potter had started his own academy in an effort to remove himself from the Ministry's meddling (as well as the admittedly hitherto dangerous learning environment Hogwarts presented) and assert his independence from anyone's meddling.
But it was still a private academy. With a bit more staff and a few more students…
There was certainly potential.
"Perhaps I should get in touch with Andromeda Tonks," she finally said. "Maybe this school of theirs is in need of a Transfiguration professor."
000
Days after her unceremonious dismissal from Hogwarts (which had made headline news, framed as more radical new changes at Hogwarts), Minerva had settled back into her miniscule but functional cottage in the Scottish Highlands, but she hadn't lingered; there was work to be done.
And when there was work to be done, it was best done sooner than later.
Her first visit was to the home of Andromeda Tonks, a stately two-story farmhouse in the Suffolk countryside not far from the village of Lakenheath. As a brisk winter breeze whipped through the barren trees and sent a flurry of snow circling up from where it had drifted near the low stone wall around the house, Minerva made her way up a stone path that had clearly had a warming charm placed on it judging from the water pooling where ice likely should have frozen over already. Silently admiring the spellwork, Minerva reached up and rapped her knuckles on the door. For good measure, she reached down and pressed the doorbell that had obviously been installed well after the house's construction, setting off a two-tone chime somewhere deep within.
Moments later, the door opened.
"P… Minerva?" Andromeda Tonks spluttered.
Andromeda Tonks was clearly not expecting company on an early January morning, most especially her former Transfiguration professor. Minerva managed a small but friendly smile, the sort she put on when visiting the unsuspecting families about to find out their son or daughter was a muggle-born magic-user. In fact, she recalled, she had once visited Andromeda's parents-in-law with the same news regarding her present husband at one time.
But that was a trip down memory lane for a later date. Dwelling on the details of her recently-vacated job left her with a profound melancholy that she wasn't fit to confront just yet.
"Good morning, Andromeda," Minerva said. "Could I perhaps come in?"
"Of course, of course," Andromeda said, stepping back. She wore her muggle best this morning, a pair of faded blue jeans and what had to be one of Ted's shirts, as it hung around her like a tent. Cygnus and Druella would have been scandalized to see her in such dress. "Um…tea?"
"Please," Minerva said. Andromeda led her to a living room just off the main entry and invited her sit anywhere, bustling off to put together some tea. Minerva took a seat on a wonderfully soft couch, observing the quaint furnishings. The chairs and sofa were mismatched but still new and cared for, and along the wall opposite the seat she presently occupied, a wooden cabinet held quite a large square box with a glass front, which Minerva knew was a television. Her own warped reflection looked back at her from the bulbous curve of the screen, a profoundly out-of-place woman in a tartan dress and cloak sitting in a perfectly normal muggle living room.
It wasn't long before Andromeda returned bearing a tray with a steaming kettle, two cups, and an assortment of teabags, which she placed on the low table before Minerva.
"I'm afraid the selection is a bit skint right now," Andromeda confessed as she sat. "With Nymphadora home these past few weeks, she's been drinking through all the Earl Grey."
"I thought that she was living in the city?" Minerva asked.
"Well, since she left the Ministry, she's not able to afford her flat anymore," Andromeda said. "She was back in her old room for a week or so, but now she's off with Harry and his merry band of misfits."
"They've already left, then," Minerva surmised, and Andromeda nodded as she poured them two cups.
"Just yesterday, I believe," she said. "Should be in the States by now, getting up to no good."
"On their school trip," Minerva said, and Andromeda snorted as she spooned a bit of sugar into her tea.
"Who knows, they might actually learn something," she said. "You and I both know that wasn't precisely the intention of starting this Lily Academy of theirs."
"Is that what it's called?" Minerva asked, finding herself a bit touched at the name. She added a small measure of sugar into her own cup, along with a splash of milk. "He named it after his mother?"
"It's rather sweet, isn't it?" Andromeda asked with a fond smile. "I can't even fault the boy for wanting to get away, with the state this society's gotten in. And now there's talk of…him coming back."
"Dumbledore's rather sure it's going to happen," Minerva said. "And with how the Ministry's running things, they'll have all of this ready to be handed to him on a silver platter."
"And you believe him?" Andromeda asked darkly. "After what he did to Harry? What he put that poor boy through?"
"I'm no fan of Albus Dumbledore," Minerva said. "He has a great many faults, and he's been allowed to act with impunity for much too long. But, hard as it is to accept, he's always had only noble intentions."
"If absolutely imbecilic methods," Andromeda added, and Minerva shrugged.
"Granted," she said. "Even so, if he believes You-Know-Who is attempting a return, I'm inclined to believe him. Apropos of that, I have a question to ask."
"Ask away," Andromeda said, sipping at her tea.
"This school of Potter's," Minerva asked. "Who's officially in charge of it? Surely he's at least appointed a head to handle correspondence and the like."
"In fact, that prestigious honor has fallen to me," Andromeda said with a rueful smile. "You're looking at the Headmistress of the Lily Academy, for all the position is merely a formality."
"Does it have to be so, however?" Minerva asked her, and Andromeda surveyed her thoughtfully over the rim of her teacup.
"What d'you mean?" she asked.
"No doubt you've heard about my recently being let go from Hogwarts," Minerva said.
"And you'd like to apply for a job?" Andromeda said with a dubious look. "Minerva, our only six students are currently overseas. Not to mention, the schoolhouse is a four-story townhome hidden behind a Fidelius Charm."
"Listen," Minerva said, setting her cup down and fixing Andromeda with a bald look, "things are only going to get worse from here. Hogwarts is no longer going to be the safe haven it once was for anyone to learn magic. There's already been talk of segregating classes, of keeping muggle-born and muggle-raised children separate from the purebloods, those brought up in our society. Runcorn and Yaxley have been framing it as allowing the muggle-borns to catch up and learn at their own pace, but I have a feeling they'll never be allowed to actually do so."
"That's horrible!" Andromeda said. "Ted's a muggle-born, and he was one of the top students of his year!"
"I'm well aware that it's a vile concept," Minerva said, "but that only illustrates how very helpful an alternative would be."
"But…" Andromeda trailed off, sighing, "this was supposed to be a dummy school, something to allow them a chance to get away."
"I believe this scheme of Potter's might be our one chance," Minerva said. "If we only had a building we could use as a school."
Andromeda stiffened that, sighing and pursing her lips thoughtfully as she idly stirred her tea.
"I…might know a place," she said. "Uncle Alphard, when he died. He left Sirius quite a bit of gold, but he left me…his manor. Massive place. He was quite into investment during his time, made rather good money. I never actually moved in there because…well, I wanted something simpler. But it's still there. Still in decent shape, once it's been aired out and had the grounds fixed up."
"Then this is quite possible," Minerva said, feeling a small stirring of hope. Maybe there was a silver lining to this cloud after all. "If you're up to the task, Headmistress."
"Ugh," Andromeda sighed, rubbing at her temples. "I should have known this would come back to bite me. That boy told me it would be no trouble at all, just a name to put in the papers and someone to sign the letters."
"We can't allow the Ministry and the Death Eaters to ruin these poor children's education," Minerva said. "Andromeda, the Lily Academy may be their only hope."
"Oh, alright," Andromeda grumbled, fixing Minerva with a resigned look. "But you're my Deputy Headmistress, and I expect you to step up and help me out with this."
"I accept the position gladly," Minerva said primly. "I look forward to working with you, Headmistress."
"What's Harry going to think when he finds out he accidentally started a real school?" Andromeda chuckled.
"I only hope he actually learns something on this trip of his," Minerva said with a small smirk. "He'll have a test waiting when he returns."
000
-BARTY-
Some folks can lose the blues in their hearts.
But when I think of you, another shower starts.
Into each life, some rain must fall,
But too much is falling in mine.
()
Every creak of the floorboards felt cacophonous to his ears, reminding him of the echoed sound of his footfalls shifting about. Year after year with the boy lurking silently, eyes glassy with the Imperius Curse cast upon him at all times, had left Barty anxious. He'd literally not had a moment to himself in over a decade.
And then it had all finally tipped, the delicate balance he'd managed to strike crashing down like he absolutely should have expected. He'd been lying to himself, he could now see, to assume it would end anything other than catastrophically. What would he have done? Grown old with the living specter of his son haunting his house, very nearly living out the selfsame death his wife had begged Barty to spare him from? Sooner or later, Barty would have been unable to continue the ruse, if only due to nothing else than old age. While he'd grown old and gray (prematurely, curse it), Barty Jr. had only gotten more…restive, fighting his captivity with increasing agitation.
Now, Barty supposed he knew why. The Dark Mark on his son's arm had begun to show, increasing the boy's fervor, his resolve to fight against the one-man puppet show that was his life. Had this been Felicity's intent? Had she thought for even a moment about the fallout, the ramifications of their daft "rescue", their demented tradeoff? Or had she simply been so desperate to rescue their son that she'd thrown any sense of caution to the winds and forged ahead with her mad plan?
Well, the answer was obvious. She was always so headstrong, so passionate.
He missed her so, so very much.
What could he have done differently? It had seemed so simple at the time, to put his family on the backburner and throw himself into his work in order to put away anyone that would harm them. And yet it was that very same devotion to his work in the name of his wife and son that had driven a wedge between them. Would it have all gone the same, had Barty been more involved, had he taken the occasional day to simply be with his boy or write the odd letter once in a while?
It was impossible to know, and that made it maddening all the more to ponder.
A knock roused him from his thoughts, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. Sitting room, fireplace…silence… Even his elf was gone, dismissed for her reckless endangering of their secret. In hindsight, perhaps that had been a bit of a security risk, though no one believed the whole thing anyway.
Hauling himself to his feet, Barty made his wobbling way to the front door. He still didn't feel quite all the way there after having Voldemort's hold over his mind wrenched away. Some of his thoughts didn't seem like his sometimes, until he recognized where they'd come from. He could only imagine how Barty Jr. had felt, during those first few moments of lucidity.
He didn't care to pursue that avenue of thought overmuch, however.
Peering carefully through the peephole on his door (he'd learned the hard way not to simply open it anymore), he saw Albus, along with Mad-Eye Moody. Gripping his wand, Barty wrenched the door open, aiming squarely at the grizzled ex-auror. Alastor's reaction was only an amused chuckle, his electric-blue eye fixing on the wand.
"Barty – " Albus began, but Barty cut him off.
"He's fooled you once, Albus," he insisted, staring squarely at the grinning Moody.
"Got a point, he does," he said.
"When we arrived at Hogwarts," Barty asked, "who sat in our rowboat with us?"
Moody chuckled. "Going way back, eh?" he asked. "Lucky for me, I remember. Cameron Montague and Evan Rosier. Both turned out to be scum, didn't they?"
Barty slowly lowered his wand, stepping back so the pair could enter. The door shut behind them, and he led the way back to his sitting room with his guests in tow. Moody's wooden leg gave a steady clunk as he hobbled along.
"When's the last time you've had a bath, Barty?" he asked as they went, and Barty heaved a small shrug. "Well, you're due for one. I may be missing half a nose, but it still works."
"Alastor," Albus said in a tone of caution.
"What?" Moody snickered as they sat across from each other over a tea table near the window. "I was ripe as a peach in the fall when you pulled me out of that trunk, you think I had it in me to feel embarrassed over it? You spend that long under the Imperius, it takes your mind a while to start thinking for itself again, doesn't it, Barty?"
Barty said nothing (he didn't care to ponder such matters lately), waiting for Winky to pop in with the tea—before remembering that she was gone.
"Can I get you some tea?" he asked, his voice rasping with how little he'd used it these past weeks.
"No, thank you," Albus said. "Barty, we've come with urgent news. On the night of Christmas, we believe Voldemort had made plans to abduct Harry Potter and perform a ritual in order to return to a true physical form. Those plans were, as you recall, derailed."
"I do recall," Barty said.
"Your son planted these on Harry's person," Albus said, placing on the table a pair of cufflinks that Barty recognized as his favorite set to wear to the Ministry formals. When he'd bothered to attend them with Felicity.
"Portkeys," Barty guessed. "To where?"
"A village known as Little Hangleton," Albus told him. "We've come to understand that Voldemort's mother and father once lived there. He and his cohorts had set up a hideout in his father's old home."
"But your boy got them out of there," Moody said. "And they left us a false lead. A homunculus. Dead one."
"Voldemort was using a homunculus," Barty said with the smallest twinge of hope. "Is he…?"
"No such luck," Moody chuckled.
"We believe he's trying to throw us off his trail," Albus explained. "We've examined the homunculus. There were never any life signs. It was created and died almost immediately."
"And you've no idea where he's gone," Barty guessed. "Is that why you're here?"
"If you can remember anything at all," Albus urged him. "A remark that might have been made in passing, alluding to a backup plan."
"I'm afraid not," Barty said with a shake of his head. "They were careful not to mention anything in my hearing, before they sent me off to go about my life. They could be anywhere."
"I was afraid of that," Albus now sighed. "With Harry out of the country and Barty Jr. subject to the Cosigner Clauses, I expect Voldemort is growing desperate. He'll likely have gone to ground."
"This was much easier when you knew what the plan was," Moody observed, and Albus sighed.
"Sadly, yes, grim though the circumstances were," he admitted. "We're, as the muggles say, flying blind."
"Might be time to get in touch with the Order," Moody told him, and Dumbledore sighed.
"Half of them are rather cross with me lately, it would seem," he said. "Though hopefully some can be made to understand the dire situation. This is no time for personal qualms."
"I'll join you," Barty said, looking up from where he'd been staring at his hands. "I'll help you put a stop to him."
"You would be directly aligning yourself against the Ministry," Albus cautioned him. "If it gets out that Barty Jr. is still alive through your efforts, if they find out what you did…"
"Then so be it," Barty said. "If not for me, his plans would never have gotten as far as they did. If not for…that boy. Whatever I can do to fix what's come about because of me, I will."
"I cannot fault you for wanting to do what you believe is right," Albus said. "If that is the case, I would happily welcome you to the Order of the Phoenix. There is more we will need to discuss, but for the moment, what's most important is that you continue to recover from your ordeal. Tell no one of your affiliation with me, lest they think you're in on my 'machinations', as it were."
"If Voldemort is trying to fake his death," Barty said, a thought suddenly occurring to him, "perhaps it might be prudent to let him believe his plan has worked."
"Is that so?" Albus asked.
"Go to Cornelius tomorrow, tell him that you've discovered Voldemort's body," Barty said. "Tell him the danger has passed, and all is well again."
"He may very well just accuse Albus of cooking up the body himself," Moody said.
"It's well within my capabilities," Albus admitted.
"Even if he does, you're still going to him and telling him you won't be hounding him claiming Voldemort's trying to return," Barty insisted. "And that gets him off your back for the moment. Continuing the same tactic of repeating the same warnings ad nauseum is only going to increase his resolve. It might be best to back off until you have some concrete proof of what's happening."
"Well, that's a point," Moody said. "And that pulls double duty. Maybe Voldemort will drop his guard if he thinks you're not on his case anymore. I bet he'd just love to think he pulled a fast one on you."
"Both…excellent points," Albus said with a nod.
"And in the meantime, I would strongly encourage you to make an effort to eliminate his power base," Barty went on. "All of his ilk that got away from Azkaban. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, all of the ones that most certainly know he's well on his way back and haven't raised any concerns over the matter."
"Barty – "
"No, that's also an excellent point," Moody said. "Albus, those lot have already passively picked a side. They could be corroborating our story, warning Cornelius with absolute proof. But they're waiting in the wings, wanting to see how it turns out."
"I will not have this turn into a headhunt," Albus insisted. "We're better than that."
"That's all well and good, until you remember how many innocents were tortured and killed by those monsters," Moody said. "And what did they do? Bribed their way out of trouble. Threatened, blackmailed…became professors."
"Alastor," Albus said in warning tones, and Moody fell silent, though the look on his face spoke volumes. "I'll inform Cornelius of our findings and let him know that I believe the danger has passed. Hopefully word will get back to Voldemort, and he'll show his hand. In the meantime, it would be prudent to let things unfold as they will."
"That's that, then," Moody said, sighing as he got to his feet and leaning on his walking stick. "I suppose we'll get out of your hair."
"Do keep in touch, Barty," Albus said as he also stood. "Let us know if anything seems out of sorts."
"Moreso than usual, you mean?" Barty asked with a ghost of a wry smile, and Albus let a humorless chuckle. He was first out the door, nodding to the other two.
"I suppose I've some letters to send," he said. "I will send a letter along with the time and location of the first meeting of the Order."
"Safe travels," Moody said. Albus turned on the spot, and then he was gone with a ghost of a pop. Moody paused, turning back to Barty. Both eyes were now fixed on his, his scarred and pitted face set in a scowl. For a long moment, silence stretched between the two as they measured each other up. Moody, it seemed, appreciated what he saw. "You're thinking of going after them anyway. The scum that walked free."
"I've seen firsthand what happens when those responsible for such suffering are let off the hook," Barty said. "These monsters have shown no remorse, no change in their ways. They've only settled down. Now that their master is back on the move, their first move is going to be to return to his side."
"Unless something is done about it," Moody added, and Barty nodded. With an almost feral grin, Moody let a single chuckle. "Don't be a stranger, Barty."
He hobbled his way down the steps of Barty's house, and with a puff of air, he was gone.
And Barty was again alone.
000
-SIRIUS-
I…I can remember
Standing…standing by the wall.
And the guns…shot above our heads.
And we kissed…as though nothing could fall.
()
"You'll take care of him, won't you, Paddy? If we go?"
"You're not going anywhere, you git," Sirius said as he took a drink of Ogden's. "None of that talk."
"Promise me, though, Sirius," James said with that faintly warm expression he wore sometimes, the most serious one he knew. Sirius hated that expression, because it always led to heavy talk. "You're his godfather, we've already decided. Something happens to us, we want you to – "
"James. I don't want to talk about thi – "
"It's getting talked about, alright?" A smile now, that same smile he always wore, no matter how grim things got. Because he was with his friends, and that was all he needed. "Promise me, won't you? If we go?"
"Fine," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes. "I promise. The lad won't know a second's misery, long as I'm around."
"Good man," James said with that winning grin. "Now let's drink up, eh? There'll be a little Pronglet running around soon enough, won't there?"
"I am never calling him that," Sirius insisted.
CLACK!
Jolting awake as the hatch of the cargo hold was thrown open, Sirius stretched his legs out and let a whining yawn before climbing to his feet. While some might have balked at the idea of spending an eight-hour nonstop flight from London to New York stuffed into a pet carrier in the cargo hold of a passenger airliner, Sirius actually rather enjoyed the solitude.
It was still an upgrade from Azkaban.
It was also the only way he was able to travel, as he was still a wanted man in both the magical and muggle worlds. Luckily enough, it was rather easy to license a dog and forge up some papers enabling him to fly. What with that and an Undetectable Expansion Charm on the interior of his delightful pet carrier, he was traveling in comfort.
Save for some less-than-pleasant dreams.
Sometimes, Sirius almost regretted showing Harry the memories of James and Lily, of the Marauders. Ever since, dreams and thoughts of the past came much more readily, with a vivid clarity that he was never completely ready to deal with. The gray hole in his life that was his thirteen-year sentence in Azkaban had always been a sort of valley to him, a chasm across which the past was safely kept at bay, detached from here and now. But through the pensieve, he had bridged the gap, taken Harry with him and sank into scalding hot waters of their warmth, their life.
He had never met two so fiery souls.
Even so, it had been worth it, completely and unequivocally, to see the teary-eyed smile on Harry's face, to introduce him to his parents in some small way. The poor lad had suffered in his own right, been subjected to a prison sentence of sorts in the form of his time with Lily's foul sister and her horrible family. Sirius felt he owed it to Harry to be there for him, to make up for lost time and to make amends for getting rather wrapped up in his revenge plot. Now, thoughts of revenge, of hunting down Wormtail and crushing his tiny rat body, were the farthest thing from his mind.
Which was just as well, as they were no longer on the same continent.
"How many furry friends on this one, Mike?" a woman's voice called, one thick with some American accent Sirius couldn't place.
"Uh…two," a man said from the opening. "Cat and a dog. Need some help?"
"Nah, got it," the girl said, adding in a low mutter so the man couldn't hear. "You'd just get in the way, wouldn't he, bud?" She spoke now to Sirius, who could see a young black woman with a gleaming smile. Her nametag read 'Angela'. "Aren't you a pretty dog? …Snuffles?" She giggled, reading the tag on his cage. "Oh, that's precious, I love that. C'mon, Snuffles, let's get ya off this stuffy plane, 'kay?"
Sirius let a low wurf at that, and Angela smiled at him, easily dragging the carrier from the plane and into a cold and brisk midmorning. They had taken off out of Heathrow at eight in the morning, but thanks to time zones, it was only nearly noon. The sky was an overcast pearlescent gray, with a light flurry falling onto the tarmac. Out in the open air, Sirius's enhanced senses were assaulted by the smells and sounds of the calamitous New York airport, and he understood why so many animals hated to fly.
He could hear the cat having fits behind him as he was loaded onto the luggage train.
After a short ride through a bustling airfield, he was brought through a large bay door and into a hangar of sorts. He was glad for the stabilization charm placed on the interior of his carrier as it was offloaded; Angela was strong, but Mike was loath to carry his weight, it seemed. The pair settled him onto a cart and wheeled him into a room of while linoleum and gray walls, which reminded Sirius of his one visit to a muggle hospital; muggle businesses sure favored sterile neutral tones.
"Okay, Snuffles," Angela said, crouching in front of Sirius. "You should only be here for a little bit. They're disembarking right now, and it's not far. Think you can hang in here?"
"Wurf," Sirius said, and Angela giggled.
"You're a smart doggy," she said, standing and then shouting of to her left. "Mike! Lunch break!"
"Yeah!" Mike called back.
Sirius was left alone, hoping Harry wouldn't be long; he needed the loo. At this point, he'd gladly use a fire hydrant. Left with only the interminable click-clicking of Mike and the keyboard of his computer, Sirius was considering turning human and apparating to the nearest toilet when the door burst open, and a tiny figure came rushing in.
"There he is!" Mafalda's voice squeaked, dropping to her knees to slide the rest of the way to him and colliding with his carrier. "Snuffly-Snuffles, the Snuffer-Dog!"
As she dipped down to smile broadly at him, Sirius's vision was obscured by the curtain of her ginger hair, her freckled face beaming brightly at him.
"Did you have a lovely flight?" she asked him.
"Wurf," Sirius told her.
"I saw a cat! Did you two have a good chat?"
"Wurf," Sirius explained.
"How rude of her!" Mafalda said. "We must ensure you have politer company on the next flight. Harry, the cat called him a fleabag!"
"I'll be sure to lodge a formal complaint," Harry said absently, making his way over. Sirius let his tongue loll out as Harry dropped to sit on the floor before the carrier. "Alright, fleabag?"
"Wurf," Sirius shot back, and Harry smirked at him. For all his resemblance to his father, Sirius couldn't help but muse that he was as expressive as his mother. Every smirk, every eyebrow, every roll of the eyes was Lily Evans and her uncontainable sass. His hair was a bit shorter after a trip to the salon before they'd left, and he'd struck a tenuous balance between untamable and untidy thanks to the perfect amount of Sleekeazy's.
Hermione had insisted he leave it a bit unkempt, a sentiment met with enthusiastic agreement by Daphne, Astoria, and Mafalda.
As well as Dora.
"Once we spring you, we're off to the toilet," Harry said. "I assume you need one of the lovely hydrants they have 'round here?"
"Wurf," Sirius attempted to nod, but doing so as a dog was quite difficult.
"Harry, I want doughnuts from the Dunkin' Donuts!" Mafalda insisted.
"We're about to eat at the hotel," Harry told her.
"But how often will I get to eat Dunkin' Donuts?" Mafalda asked.
"Frightfully so," Hermione's voice said as she made her way over. "Apparently they're all over here in America."
"How about we get Dunkin' Donuts while we're on the road?" Harry asked, and Sirius could see Hermione lean in and press a kiss to his lips. Good on him for finding a good one like Hermione.
"I guess…" Mafalda said glumly. Behind them, the door opened once more, the bustle of the airport breaking in for a few seconds before it shut behind Terry, Daphne, and Astoria.
"Oi, doughnuts," Terry announced, and Mafalda gasped in delight, skipping over to the trio.
"Strawberry with sprinkles?" she asked, and Terry scoffed.
"Naturally," he said. "Only the best doughnut, objectively."
"At least someone around here hath thum thensh," Mafalda said, her voice muffled around what was presumably much too large a bite of doughnut.
"You've always been the rock-solid center of reason, Terry," Harry pointed out.
"Y'know, I do what I can," Terry said, also through a mouthful of doughnut. "Coffee?"
Harry accepted a coffee, taking a ponderous sip and wincing a bit.
"Hot?" Hermione asked.
"Bitter," he said. "Nasty stuff. How do they drink this over tea?"
"Well, give it here, snooty," Daphne said, snatching the cup from him. "I've already finished mine."
"You'll stunt your growth," Hermione admonished her.
"Good, I won't need to buy new clothes anytime soon," Daphne said.
"Alright, we're free to go," Remus said, walking over with Dora in tow. "Who's pushing him?"
"I'll do it!" Mafalda volunteered.
"You can barely see over the thing," Harry said. "Here, hop on, and I'll push."
It was a good thing Remus had gotten practice reining in the Marauders during his school years; he was in for an experience with this lot.
…
They stopped by the loo on the way out of the airport (and Sirius got to use the quaint little fire hydrant after making sure they all looked away), and soon Sirius was loaded back in his pet carrier, which was summarily stuffed into the rear of a shuttle van that hauled them all to the Plaza Hotel.
It was auspicious accommodations, to be sure, but they had the money for it. Plus, the place allowed pets, so there would be no need for any skullduggery to get Sirius up to the room. And Harry had never stayed at a fancy hotel before, a situation Sirius would not see go without remedy if he could. He didn't miss the awestruck look on his godson's face as they entered the large room, though audible gasps sounded from everyone.
"Wait, this is a muggle hotel?" Daphne asked. "This looks like one of our guest rooms."
"This is so fancy," Mafalda breathed. "I'm afraid to touch anything."
"You do presently have sticky doughnut hands," Harry said, shutting the door behind them. Sirius immediately scampered forward and reared up, pulling himself back toward human and stretching with a groan. His shoulders gave a satisfying pop, and it felt so nice to be free of the tail once more. Being a dog was nice, but the novelty only lasted so long.
"Ugh, if you need me, I'm in the bath," he said.
"Which one?" Dora asked, scanning a pamphlet that had been left on a small table near the door. "There's two of them."
"There's two of everything," Hermione said, kicking her shoes off and moseying to the door on the right. "I think this is just two really fancy rooms connected by a foyer."
Daphne was behind her, passing through to one of the living rooms, which was adorned in the sort of fancy antique-looking furniture any of the sitting rooms back home would have boasted, though in pleasing pale colors with gold-plated trim. She dropped into one of the sofas with a sigh. "Oh, these are quite comfy. Tori, come and sit. I want to watch muggle television."
"Oh, I watched one of their movies on the flight, it was actually good," Astoria said, joining her sister.
"You lot don't get too comfy," Remus said, dragging along the cart bearing their bags. Dora saw him struggling over the threshold and hastened to help. Thankfully, a slew of Undetectable Expansion Charms ensured that each of them only had one bag to bring along, though it was still a fair bit of luggage given the size of their party. "We're off to the restaurant soon as possible. I'm peckish."
"I could eat, too," Terry said.
"C'mon, Moony, let a poor dog have a bath after a stressful flight, eh?" Sirius asked, pouting in Remus's direction. Remus rolled his eyes, though he only grinned before giving him a shove.
"Alright, but if you come out here and shake water everywhere, you're sleeping in the hallway," he warned with a stern finger.
"You never let a bloke have fun, do you?" Sirius sighed.
He crossed through the expansive living room, spotting Harry and Hermione already cuddled up on a sofa while Harry scanned through the channels on the television. Daphne and Astoria were watching in open fascination as the moving images changed with a push of a button.
"Is it like radio stations on the wireless?" Astoria asked. "Only with…pictures?"
"Video," Harry said. "When it's on a screen like this and moving, it's called video."
"Why?" Daphne asked.
"…I have absolutely no idea," Harry said. "Hermione?"
"I think it's Latin," Hermione said, snuggling into his arms. "I'll have to look it up."
"Will we have to stop by some fancy New York library before we head out?" Harry asked with a grin, and Hermione poked her tongue out at him.
"Would you laugh at me if I said I made a list of famous libraries I'd like to visit?" she asked him, and Harry smirked at her.
"Maybe a fond chuckle," he said. "Nothing more."
"I'll accept that," she said.
Grinning, Sirius left the young ones to their fun. It was rewarding to see Harry so surrounded with friends, and it was especially so to see that had landed himself a lovely young lady such as Hermione. If he was anything like his father (or his grandfather, Fleamont, for that matter), he'd need someone with some sense to temper his more headstrong tendencies.
Or goad them along when the time was right.
As he drew himself a bath in one of the fanciest bathrooms he'd ever set foot in (they would absolutely have to stay at this hotel again sometime), Sirius wondered if it was just a Potter trait, a magnetic tendency to draw in a few loners here and there, pull together the ones in desperate need of a group of friends. The Marauders had all been, in their own ways, outcasts, if not from society then from their families or social groups. Even James himself had been something of a social pariah, rejected by the old purebloods for being "new money" but with too much of his father's gold to come off as much more than a privileged rich boy to anyone else.
That was the Potter legacy, Sirius supposed, one dangerously compounded with Lily Evans's uncommon compassion. If James had been charming, Lily had been a riveting presence, someone that just sort of happened to you. And to think of the two of them, a potent combination brought about in the form of Harry…Sirius felt no small bit of trepidation, knowing James had put him in charge of the lad. He would do his absolute best, though. He'd made a promise, never to let Harry experience a moment's misery, and he intended to make good on that.
He owed it to James, to the scrawny rich disaster that had crashed into his life and saved it.