Chapter Twenty-Nine: Choices

"I knew this would happen!" Sirius threw Healer Fondorn's letter onto the table. His fist crashed down next to it. Remus didn't blink at his lover's rage.

"I told Albus this would happen! I told him Harry would backslide into that – that – that mess we dug out of the Malfoy Manor, but did Albus listen? No, of course not, not his precious Severus, oh he would never do anything to harm James –"

"Harry, Sirius."

"Snape is just so – what?"

"Harry is not James."

"I know that."

"You just called him James."

"I – no, I – impossible. A slip of the tongue. Moony, you know I love the kid, it's just…"

"Just what?"

Sirius sagged into his chair, elbows propped against the table. "I…it's so hard to talk to him. He's nothing like James, you know?"

"I know."

"James – he was always good for a joke and a laugh, a prank and some kind of mischief. James never could sit still, always on the go, always surrounded by people." Sirius shook his head. "Harry didn't even get Head Boy this year. They gave it to that Malfoy brat. James was Head Boy. Harry should be too."

"What if he didn't want it?"

"Not want Head Boy? Are you mad? James was plotting for the position from the second he set foot in Hogwarts. Harry –"

"Isn't James."

Sirius let out a harsh sigh. "I know that, Remus."

"Then start acting like it."

Sirius jerked back, blinking at the too-calm werewolf. "I beg your pardon?"

"You'll get it, but I don't know for how much longer I'll be able to sit and watch you shove your head up your arse and warble, Sirius."

"What the hell, Moony –,"

Remus shot to his feet, slamming his hands down onto the table. It got Sirius' attention. "Harry is Harry. Harry is not James. All I have heard from you since the children left for school is James this and James that – can you imagine what that's like for Harry? To always come in second place in his godfather's heart?" Remus' eyes glued Sirius to his seat. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to hear James this and James that, day in and day out? I know you loved the man, Sirius, but it would be nice to be reminded every now and then that there is room in that brain and heart of yours for more than a ghost!" Remus' shout filled the room. Sirius clutched at the arms of his chair as he watched his lover stalk away.

James, what should I do? He closed his eyes when nothing but silence answered. He opened them, gaze settling on the letter in front of him. Harry…he set his jaw. Those bloody Malfoys and that Snape. It's all their fault this is happening. I've got to talk to Harry. He has to see reason.

The chair squealed against the floor as he pushed it back. His cloak was in the hall. He snatched it up with one hand, bounding out the door without looking back. He never heard the floo deposit the daily mail in the sitting room.

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"It's just a piece of paper, Harry. It won't bite."

It had been a week since the end of their OWLs. The last weekday meal was when they were given their own copy of the results, another having been sent to their parents that morning.

They'd all be treated to a variety of owls throughout the day, from howlers to chirping congratulations. Those few didn't have to open their letters, they already knew their results. As did the rest of the school.

He glanced over at Draco. Things had seemed to change in the blond since their visit with Pythia. Draco was more relaxed, easier to approach in some ways, but in others…Harry had been dreaming, almost every night since the visit, of pale silver eyes that were slit like a lizard's. They watched him in the darkness. They should have scared him, but it was quite the opposite. He'd felt safer than he had in years.

"I'll open mine with you," Neville offered. "C'mon Harry, on three?"

"Right, on three." He slid his thumb under the seal. "One, two, three!"

The letter open, he glanced over the text. Then he stopped and read it again. And again.

"Merlin's pants, Harry! I got E's! And an O! Two O's!" Neville waved his arms in the air. "I – I – wait till Gran sees this, I won't need the letters of recommendation anymore –,"

"What letters?" Blaise caught Neville's arm and snagged the results from his lax fist.

"Oh, I…um."

"Harry?" Draco leaned into his shoulder.

"I did well." He passed it over to Draco, noting the tremor in his hands. He had his good days and his bad days – it wasn't the best day ever, but by far not the worst.

"All E's and three O's." Draco let out a low whistle. "Almost as good as me. Well done, Potter."

He punched the blond on the shoulder, face flaming. "Prat, it's better than I could have ever hoped for."

"How'd you get an E in Divination?" Pansy peered over Draco's shoulder. "The woman they have now is almost as bad as Trelawney was."

"Neville?"

They all turned at the tone in Blaise's voice. Neville had his head down, staring at his hands.

"I, uh…" The former Gryffindor pushed his plate away with a sharp gesture and stood, startling them all. "I – I –," he snatched the letter from Blaise's hands. "I got to go show this to Professor Sprout. See you," he took off without a backwards glance.

"What's wrong with Neville?" Pansy leaned around the bulk of Draco's chest to peer at Harry. "Is this about that Herbology position up at Rosmerton Labs?"

Blaise's head whipped around. "What position?"

"You mean he hasn't told you?"

"No, I…" Blaise shook his head and rose from the table, striding out the same door Neville had fled through.

Harry turned to Draco. "You ever get the feeling that the whole day has gone to Hell in a hand basket and it's just going to get worse?"

"How in Merlin's name do you get to Hell in a hand basket?"

"Carefully, I suppose."

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"Neville?"

He hunched over the long row of primroses. They were late blooms, rare in the strange harsh fall that was pummeling the rest of the plants.

Hands settled on his shoulders, drawing him up and back from the plants. The dried, dead leaves fell from his hands.

"I…I'm sorry," he turned his face to the side. He could just see Blaise out of the corner of his eye.

The hands traveled down and slid around his waist. He was drawn against Blaise's chest.

"Talk to me?" The other boy asked.

Neville drew in a sharp breath and let it out. "I…I'm not very smart, you know? I mean, I don't test well, I never have. They make me nervous, then I can't concentrate, then I panic and I can't answer anything. It happens every time."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Blaise hooked his chin over Neville's shoulder. "I know you're brilliant, that's all that matters."

"No," Neville couldn't help the edge that entered his voice. It made Blaise tense. "It matters, Blaise. If I want – want to –," His throat closed and he tried to keep his eyes clear.

Blaise guided them over to a large bench and sat them down. He took Neville's hands in his. Neville couldn't meet his eyes.

"Tell me," Blaise said in that soft, deep voice Neville was helpless against.

"I love plants," he blinked fast to clear his eyes. "I've always loved plants. Professor Sprout saw it – she – she and I, there's this position in Rosmerton Labs, an assistant Herbology position that is contested every year. You get in, spend one year as an assistant and you're in, hired by the lab at an entry level position, or higher if they really like you. Professor Sprout worked there for years before she retired and came to Hogwarts. She's the one that thought I could do it first – she didn't care about my grades, she knew I understood plants." He glanced up, peering at Blaise through his lashes.

Blaise smiled at him, buffing their linked hands. "Professor Sprout is a smart lady," he agreed.

Neville felt his cheeks grow warm. "I – it's just…" He gulped down a breath. "We've been preparing for it since third year. I've been to interviews, I've passed their exams. They only hinge was Gran; she insisted I finish Hogwarts through my seventh year. Once I graduate, I've got the position. It's guaranteed."

"That's amazing," Neville risked another glance at Blaise. "It really is." Blaise ducked his head to catch Neville's eye.

"But – it's just…" Neville twisted his hands free to touch the bracelet, warm on his wrist. "It's up near Gran. I'd have a job, right out of school, but it pays crap, mostly for the first few years, and I know your family –,"

"Neville," Blaise caught his hands again. "It's all right." He slid down to kneel in front of the former Gryffindor. "I think it's wonderful. Amazing."

"But us…" Neville gripped Blaise's hands. "I don't want to – to force you anywhere. To make you choose."

"Neville, I'll be going into the family business," Blaise smiled at him. "It's something I can do anywhere, as long as I have an office to pitch the paperwork in, it's fine."

"But…"

"We're wizards, Neville. I can commute if worse comes to worst. And I won't mind. If you're doing something you love, then hey, let's go for it. We'll make it work."

"Won't your family get mad?"

"Merlin, no." Blaise pushed into his personal space, curled warm hands around Neville's cheeks. "They'll be thrilled. They love expanding the offices."

"Y-you're sure?"

"Positive," Blaise kissed him, taking his breath away. Time always seemed to slow when Blaise touched him; his head swam, his heart raced and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Blaise shifted forward, sliding between Neville's knees to kneel up close to Neville's face. His face burned at the display, even through there was no one around to see them. The hot house was empty, only Neville and Professor Sprout had the keys to them. Neville had forgotten to lock the door behind him in his flight.

He was rather happy at that oversight, except… "Blaise," he pulled away a bit, finding his hands curled tight around in Blaise's jumper.

"What?" Teeth scraped against his neck. They had gone this far before, but not much more. Things always seemed to happen – his Gran would come home early, food would start to burn or boil – but in the dark silence of the hot house, there was nothing popping up to stop them, nothing except an unlocked door that bothered the hell out of Neville's healthy sense of paranoia.

"I…the door is…"

"What about it?"

"It's open."

"I know."

"Anybody could come in!"

Blaise huffed a laugh against the skin of Neville's throat. "That's true." His hands slid up from Neville's knees, pushing the former Gryffinddor against the hard line of the shelves at their back. Neville's uncertain eyes stared down at him, but he bent when Blaise nudged, spreading his knees wide, hands gripping the high line of the shelf for balance.

Neville felt ridiculous, but by the heat in Blaise's eyes, it was anything but.

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Harry was dreaming.

He was getting better at telling different kinds of dreams apart. Normal dreams ran like movies in his mind, simple or complex, but never enough to pull him from the lethargic state to something that was close to awareness.

This was a different dream. He stood on a familiar green path. It no longer pulsed under his feet. The door – the mind – that lay at the journey's end was gone, vanished.

The Dark was silent. Nothing moved. Harry could not hear the scrape of his shoes against the ethereal ground. There was nothing – at first.

In the distance, as if coming to him from far away, a scream tore through the air. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He knew that voice, he knew that scream. Somewhere, someone was dying and the Morrigan feasted on their bones.

But then the scream changed, from victory to pain – the scream of a crow/goddess/creature in agony. He put his hands over his ears, but it didn't help. The sound drilled down to his bones, settling ice where blood should have been.

Then the scream changed again, becoming something other, something…brassy? A trumpet call, a horn, crying defiance into the night – no – the Black…The Black Manor rose up from the mists around him, the gleaming windows like piercing eyes, all focused on him.

The call came from the flung open front doors. It came from the Manor, lighting up the sky and grounds around it with a golden glow. Harry wanted to move forward. Needed to move forward. He needed to get into the house. He needed the horn, the sound, he needed –

"Harry?"

The dream shattered as he jerked awake, hands flailing as he fell off the couch.

"Harry?" Draco knelt at his side, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Fine. I'm fine. Just a dream."

"A dream."

"Yes, one –," he glanced up at the blond. "I think I need another journal," he said it with a sigh.

Draco settled in next to him. "What do you mean?"

Harry ran his hands over his face. "It was like a dream-dream, but also like a future dream."

Draco's eyebrows came together. "Perhaps it is something that may happen, but only if certain other things happen." Draco gave a slow nod. "Yes, a look into a future of might and maybe could perhaps feel like that. It is part true and part speculation."

Harry gave him a long look. "What have you been doing in your spare time?"

"What spare time?" Draco curled a grin at him. "But it would make sense? It's a good idea to keep it in another journal though." The blond wrinkled his nose. "We'll need an assistant."

"An assistant?"

"Of course."

"What for?"

"What use is it to write down your dreams if they are not organized and archived, indexed and cross checked?"

"…That's mad."

"No, not for us, but for an assistant, perhaps."

"Draco!"

"Would you rather they languish in journals, lost, when we could need them the most?"

"You…politician."

"Why, thank you, Harry."

He huffed out a laugh at the proud gleam in Draco's eye. "I –,"

"Harry?"

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Then, "Yes, Ginny?"

"Sirius is here to see you."

He scrambled to his feet, Draco right behind him. "Sirius is here? As in the castle? Really?" The animagus must have gotten the OWL results early. "Where?" He allowed himself a little hope. Sirius hadn't said a word about Healer Fondorn's visit all through the week. Harry had even written his godfather a longer than usual letter, sending out a hope for trust and a truce between them. Sirius had seemed to respond well to the letter.

He had a fluttering feeling in his stomach.

"He's outside," Ginny glanced at Draco. "It'd be best if he didn't see you. He's still…upset."

A muscle moved in Draco's jaw. "The feeling is mutual, I do believe."

"Draco," he turned to the blond.

"I'll wait here for you," Draco cut a cold look at Ginny. "If you need me, call."

"I will," Harry curled his hands into the long sleeves of his jumper. He followed Ginny out into the hall. The younger girl, he noted, had stashed her cane somewhere and was limping along on her own.

The animagus was pacing in tight circles when they arrived. They were settled off to one side corridor that led to a warren of old, unused classrooms and storage areas. The tight, severe lines of Sirius' face made the hope in Harry's chest flutter and fail.

"Sirius?"

"Harry!" Sirius spun so fast it made Harry twitch back. "What is the meaning of this?" He waved a letter in the air.

"I…My OWL results? You don't –"

"I don't bloody care about your OWL's, Harry! This report from Healer Fondorn says you're at it again. He's spent all week clearing the way for me to move you into St. Mungo's! What did you do?"

"Me?" Harry's stomach had dropped out on him. So had the floor. "I didn't do anything! He was the one who wanted to take me off someplace by himself –"

"Harry Potter –"

"All he does is poke and prod my side, which leave bruises, Sirius, not that you've ever cared to notice, but they do! None of his cure-alls worked – Madam Pomfrey's potions have done more for my throat and nerves than anything that hack did!"

Where the rage came from, Harry wasn't sure. But it bubbled up from his chest, red hot and waiting to lash out at the older man.

"How dare you take that tone with me!"

"You've never believed me, have you? All I am is a walking ghost for some man I can't even remember!"

"Don't you dare dishonor your father's memory!"

"I never had a father!" Harry's nails cut into his palms. "That's what you were supposed to be!"

"I would never take James' place!"

"Just like you'll never believe me when I say I dream the future!"

"Harry, you don't dream about the future. You're no longer taking the Vision Potion. There's no more Dark Lord. It's over, Harry, give it up. Let someone else be the hero, you're just a boy!"

"I know that, but I can't help it! Professor Snape said the potion had a chance to change things. Stuff happened, Sirius, stuff that changed me. Can't you understand that?"

"Because of course the sainted Snape always tells the truth."

"Yes, he does." Harry didn't understand the brief glimpse of fury on the animagus' face. "Sirius, please. Let me explain –"

"No. No, Harry. No more. You are never to dream or predict the future, ever again." Sirius seemed to loom in the sudden, shocked silence. "You are done with it, Harry. No more. You're to be a normal, happy wizard, just like James. You'll get better, heal up and play Quidditch again. You'll smile and laugh and have normal friends. That's what families are supposed to do, Harry. They don't get mauled by Dark Lords and then go off envisioning the future, seeing trouble where there is nothing. You're wrong, Harry. Wrong."

"….Sirius," Harry's throat felt hot and tight. "Please, I'm sorry I'm not normal, I'm sorry –"

"Don't be sorry, Harry." Sirius' eyes were so cold. "Choose, Harry. You can't have it both ways. It's this family or – or these…delusions you obsess over."

"They're not delusions."

"Choose, Harry! The dreams or us!"

"Sirius, please –," he reached one hand out towards his godfather.

"You write me when you've come to a decision." Sirius' scowl cut deep lines into the skin around his mouth and eyes. "Ginny has done everything Healer Fondorn asked of her. Ginny is recovering by leaps and bounds. You're the one clinging to some m-madness of your own making."

"I'm not mad," Harry croaked.

"I'll fend off Fondorn off for now, but Harry," the anger seemed to flood out of the man. "Harry, this was all supposed to be different. You were supposed to be happy, to want to come home with me…"

"I did. I do."

"It doesn't seem like it." The animagus shook his head, some of the ire returning to his eyes. "I just don't know what to do with you anymore, Harry. It was all supposed to be so different…" He trailed off. "This is useless, Harry. I won't stand for it any longer. You have to choose. Your lies or me." Sirius' face was twisted into an ugly expression. Harry bowed his head, hands clenched at his sides.

"I choose…"

"Figure it out, Harry," Sirius cut in before he could finish. "Make the right decision." Sirius tightened his jaw, glanced them over once and strode off.

Harry's legs went out from under him. I dreamt this, he realized, watching the older man's back as it vanished down the hallway. I dreamt this.

"Sirius? Father – Dad! Wait!" Ginny took off, managed to run a few steps after the man. Sirius paused, catching her against his side as she reached him. He wrapped an arm around her as they moved off, heads bent close together.

It was a long time before Harry could find the energy to get to his feet and stumble back to the warmth of the Common Room.

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"How is young Mr. Potter?"

Severus glanced over at Lucius. The Malfoy patriarch was lounging in one of the chairs nearest the hearth, boots propped up on the ratty ottoman Severus refused to throw out.

"He has had better days," he replied. Draco had come to him hours before, the pure, furious rage of his magic enough to stop Severus in his tracks. He'd guided the young blond to one of the training rooms to work out his ire on wooden bodies instead of flesh. It had helped, at least the pure physical part of the anger. Draco's scathing report of Black's newest blunder was enough to singe more jaded ears. Severus hadn't had the heart to upbraid the boy for his language. Severus was cursing the man right along with him.

"Will he recover?"

"The ability of Mr. Potter's to recover from almost any situation should be put up for consideration as an universal constant."

"Shaken that badly then?"

"The boy already has fears that he is going mad. Draco reports it is a possibility, from what he has learned from their teachers in the Otherworld. Harry does not need an unstable idiot who tries to force him into some familial mold he has planned for them all." Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the migraine threaten to return.

"And Draco?" Lucius tilted his head to one side.

"Your son's maturity grows by leaps and bounds."

A pleased smile cut Lucius' face. "He is a Malfoy."

"You should be thankful he did not inherit any of the Black hysterical madness." The words were out of his mouth before he could think to stop them. Severus winced and closed his eyes. Narcissa was never a good topic between them.

He expected a sharp reply. He got silence instead. Cautious, he cracked open an eye to see his lover facing the fire, anger absent from the lines of his shoulders and jaw.

"Lucius?"

"I am worried."

Both eyebrows rose at the tone. Severus put down his grading pen and moved to join the blond by the fire.

"How so?"

"The temple to all gods should have been built by now," long fingers drummed against the armrest. "Draco and I have planned for its unveiling at Samhain. Ground was to be struck at Lughnasa. Instead I am still battling my way through ridiculous councils and committees while Rufus refuses to commit either way."

"You believe they are going to go behind your back?"

"A fool would do so. Even if they had been raising the money for the project for years, they would have to out bid my contractors, who are well paid indeed. No, I am more worried about this resurgence of muggle-born wizards coming back for the vote."

"Lucius…"

"Hear me out, Severus." He was speared by an irritated look. "You already know my stance on such things – but it all ties in. They return to the muggle world, lead muggle lives and hide in their muggle houses when things in our world, our world, Severus become dark and dangerous. They did nothing to fight the Dark Lord, nothing to help the wizarding world – why let them vote now?"

"Because we are civilized, Lucius. You know better than this. What is the real reason you are worried?"

"Things are happening again, Severus," Lucius tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The world – both worlds – are in an uproar. Old sites of worship are being attacked. Did you hear a section of St. Peter's collapsed when an angry god found his temple site turned to rubble by angry Catholics? The muggles are being forced to see something they have not accepted for over a thousand years. The wizarding world is no better, for all our confidence with magic."

Severus leaned back in his seat. "You fear the rise of another Dark Lord."

"Another something is coming, we know that, Severus. What has me almost out of my mind is the ignorance of the public. They think everything will be fine."

"And we know better."

That earned him another dark look. "Experience teaches us to know better, Severus."

"And this ties into the temple, how?"

"A major temple brings with it the history of gods and culture, Severus. If we include them all, people will remember the bloody wars fought in their name. We'll hand out pamphlets if need be. We can't keep on forgetting these things anymore. We're too few as it is."

Severus spread his hands with a sigh. "You know I agree with you."

"Help me find a way to convince that bloody Scrimgeour then."

"A nice stunner to the head might work."

"Don't tempt me."

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It was night and Harry slept. The room spun around him. His eyes were blurry, there were too many hands on him, gripping his clothes, strapping him down to a hard bed. His ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. The back of his right hand burned.

The people babbled at him, but he couldn't understand what they wanted from him. It felt like they were trying to pull him in two. His chest ached. They held a cloth over his mouth and nose. It smelled sweet, like candy. The world spun faster around him.

He saw Sirius, with tears on his cheeks. His face stung from a slap, delivered by Ginny. He saw snow falling from his bedroom window at the Black Manor. The horn was loud enough to drown out the words of Sirius and Ginny who sat on either side of him.

The ground shook, the Manor faded away. Hard, dusty ground bit into his palms. The huts of Gwenn's village were full of life; smoke poured from the rock chimneys. Lights danced from the thick glass windows.

Then the ground turned muddy. Rain beat down on him. He was wearing Quidditch gear, but instead of a broom he held a sword. Shapes moved in the rain, shadows he could not place names to. The phrase rang in his head – You must call. You must call. But he didn't know who or what, and the voices laughed instead of answering.

He woke up screaming, snarling at the voices, cursing them to the bloody pits of hell. The echo of their mirth chased the chill that ran down his spine.

It took Draco the rest of the night to calm him down. Even in the blond's arms, Harry could still hear them, muttering, just out of reach.

End Chapter Twenty-Nine