Chapter 7
A fifth House.
Professor McGonagall called the next name on the list, "Evans, Harold."
As soon as the hat landed on her head it started to call out "Ray…" But then it stopped. The dialogue continued inside Harry's mind.
"Not Ravenclaw? Clearly that's your House, but I see you need to be placed with a Miss Granger, that shows a great deal of loyalty. Plenty of courage, I see, and a thirst to prove yourself. But you're hiding something, and hiding it from me is no mean feat, very Slytherin."
Harry thought, "Do we have to be divided like this, doesn't that foster resentment and create artificial barriers between students?"
"True, Mister Evans, and I will admit that I've been known to "misplace" certain students just to stir things up a bit."
"Then stir things up a bit more, put me and Hermione and Luna, when she gets here into the fifth House."
"The four Houses have heads, and dorms and common rooms. Would you build the fifth house from the existing foundation, and wouldn't the reformation of a fifth house further divide the student body?"
Harry smiled, "It wouldn't be divisive if the mandate of the house was to unite the other four. As for who would house and administer the house, wouldn't that be for the Headmaster to work out?"
The hat chuckled, "Oh, I see. You must have been privy to some of Dumbledore's mechanizations. It would put a bee in his bonnet, wouldn't it?"
"Just so. So, what do you say?"
The hat called out, "I say, Merlin, House of the Founders!"
The generic crest on Harry's robe morphed into a gold shield depicting a deep-purple dragon, wings unfurled, it's head and neck reared back as if ready to strike. Where the ribbon below had read, "Hogwarts," it now spelled out "Merlin." The lining and trim of his robe turned deep purple with gold accents. His school tie changed colors to match.
There was a crash and a splash as the headmaster's golden goblet fell from his fingers and spilled wine all over the professors' table and his garish robes.
A round table appeared, set halfway between the teacher's and the two centre rows of student tables.
Professor McGonagall, nonplused, directed "Harold" to the newly conjured table.
Other students were called, and sorted into standard Houses.
"Granger, Hermione."
"Merlin!"
A few more names, some unremarkable sortings.
"Longbottom, Neville."
"Gryph… Merlin!"
"Parkinson, Pansy."
"Slyth… Are you sure? Very well, Merlin!"
Blaise Zabini, the last name called, was sorted into Slytherin.
"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
Before each of the four at the founder's table not only food, but a parchment, containing certain Hogwarts by-laws.
Hermione was the first to scan the salient points. "It says here that Merlin's quarters are adjacent to the Library, ooh!"
Harry sniggered, "Easy, girl. What else?"
"Since there are only four of us, we each have our own rooms, but there is a communal bath. Well, we can work up a schedule for that."
Harry noted, "Our head of House is the presiding Headmaster, but he can delegate that responsibility to another teacher."
Pansy frowned, "As there are only four of us, someone will have to assume the role of Prefect, anyone want that?"
Hermione beamed, "I'll take it, if no one else wants to."
A bright copper badge with the letter "P" appeared, and Harry passed it to her. "I'll bet that makes you the youngest prefect since…"
"…Helena Ravenclaw, in the Eleventh Century. It's in…"
Harry and Hermione smiled and said, together, "…Hogwarts, a History!"
The reaction from the Professor's table was mixed.
While all the teachers were surprised, none were angry, after all, this was Hogwarts. Strange was something that you accepted as normal.
Severus Snape had been hoping the potions prodigies would be sorted to Slytherin.
Quirinus Quirrell was deeply troubled that the Founders would manifest themselves in this manner. It couldn't bode well for his own plans.
Dumbledore was aghast, he had much, too much going on to have to accept the role of head for yet another House. He did a quick read on the four eleven year olds at Merlin's table.
Most disturbing was the fact that Evans couldn't be read, at all. No apparent shielding, no occlumency barriers, it was as though there was nothing there to read.
Like he didn't exist.
The Granger girl simply wanted to be with the Evans boy. They were a bit young to be forming such attachments, but then, she was closer to puberty than him. Longbottom was clinging to the first friends of his own age he'd ever made, and Parkinson was desperate to shed her family's Slytherin image. More than that, the Parkinson girl was in awe of a make-believe "Prince and his Consort?" What the hell was that all about?
Deciding a young girl's childish fantasies were just too trivial to bother about, Albus scanned the Professor's table for a likely dupe, ah, volunteer, to take the position of Head of House for the Merlins.
Professor Aurora Sinestra felt uncomfortable under the Headmaster's scrutiny, when she met his gaze she knew she'd been had. With a resigned sigh she nodded.
Congratulations, she thought, I'm head of a House.
After the feast, a truly bizarre, but nonetheless stirring rendition of the school song, and some equally strange warnings about the castle and grounds, the newest members of the revived House of Merlin were greeted by their new head.
"Good evening, my name is Professor Sinestra. I understand you already know where your quarters are?"
Hermione, in her role as the Merlin Prefect stood and said, "Yes, Professor."
"Let's get settled in then, shall we?"
The five climbed to the fourth floor, giving pause to the third floor corridor that promised trespassers "a painful death." They passed the main Library entrance to stop before a tall mirror.
"Oh my," said the mirror, "What a pretty collection of poppets you are."
Harry and Neville took umbrage at being called pretty, but neither said anything.
Professor Sinestra told the Looking Glass, "Four new students for our House."
"Really?" the mirror sounded delighted, "Something must be coming. The House of Merlin always portents some great event."
The professor sighed, "Be that as it may, they need to enter their new quarters."
"Of course," the mirror was all business now, "Say 'Chhavi,' then state your full name, and pass through."
Harry went first, "Chhavi, Harold Evans."
"Now just step into me, dear."
He stretched out his hand and it felt and looked like he was dipping his fingers in water. The surface of the mirror rippled. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped through into a spacious, well lit sitting room with a large sofa and chairs set in a semi circle around a warming fire.
"Brilliant!"
Hermione followed, then Pansy and lastly, Neville.
The four students expected to see Professor Sinestra step through but were surprised to see a ghost instead.
"Greetings, Merlins, I am the Lady Helena Ravenclaw, I will be your House ghost."
Harry bowed from the waist, prompted Neville to do the same and said, "Ma'am."
Pansy and Hermione curtseyed, saying, "My Lady."
Hermione said, "Forgive me, my lady, but I thought you were the Ravenclaw ghost."
"I am, when there is no one in the House of Merlin, and there hasn't been for almost two-hundred years. I was the first Prefect of this House, and am always drawn back when there are members. As I've been here longer than most other spirits, I know all the ins and outs of this House.
There are fourteen dormitories, but only one will be open for each of you, in addition there are suites for the head boy and girl, which will open, should one of you rise to that position."
With a grin, she added, "Of course, since no one else will know, we'll leave those suites open for the Merlin prefects."
Pansy sidled up to Harry and Hermione, and whispered, "You should take the suites, as befitting your station."
"That's very kind of you, Pansy, but remember, I'm just Harry from now on, okay?"
With a conspiratorial smile, she whispered, "Of course."
They all settled into their very comfortable rooms, the head's suite shared a smaller version of the House common room, and Harry and Hermione decided to write their respective families.
Harry sat at one of the two writing desks, pulled out some parchment and placed his quill next to the paper.
The quill magically set itself up on its nib and began to write, "Daddy said you would be settled into your rooms by now and that I should try to write you."
"Hermione, look at this!"
"Quick, Harry, write something."
"We are settled in, you wouldn't believe the day we've had!"
"Harry?"
"Luna?"
"Hermione, write something to your folks, they have a pen that matches yours."
"Mum, Dad?"
"Hermione?"
"I love magic!"
Harry and Hermione were exhausted, but too tired to sleep as they informed their families about the train ride, their introduction to Hogwarts and the sorting.
Xeno's distinct handwriting asked, "Fifth House? I never knew there was a fifth House."
After two hours, it became obvious that the newest Hogwarts students were beyond tired, as their writings became less than coherent.
"Go to bed, you have a big day ahead of you."
Harry and Hermione fell into bed together, cuddled like a pair of tired puppies and were instantly asleep.
They dreamed of a grand banquet hall. Pansy and Neville were already seated, as was the Lady Helena.
The Lady smiled and said, "Ah, there you are. Now we can begin."
Harry asked, "Where are we?"
"The simple answer, my lord, is that we're in the first great hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, circa One Thousand and two. But a more truthful answer is that we're in Dreamscape."
"And why are we here?"
"We're here to try to divine the reason for the resurrection of Merlin's House."
Harry looked puzzled, "I thought it was because I didn't want to be in any of the other Houses."
"No, my lord, there is a great evil drawing near. Magic herself is preparing champions."
Neville looked near panicked, "Champions? You mean us? Me?"
Helena graced the small, pudgy boy with a smile, "Yes, Lord Gryffindor."
"I, I'm no Gryffindor. I'm scared. I'm always scared."
"And yet, here you are. In spite of your fear. Do not confuse bravery with foolishness. All too often, heroic figures are a combination of stupidity and dumb luck. Courage is not the absence of fear, it's the drive to go ahead, even when you're afraid."
Pansy sighed, "I had hoped to break out of my family's Slytherin mold, but I suppose I'm just the Slytherin in Merlin's House."
"No, my Lady Ravenclaw, for, though you possess both guile and wit, you prize intelligence over cunning."
Wait, Pansy said, obviously confused, "I thought Hermione would be, well, either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."
"While it's true, my lady, that our Hermione possesses the attributes that would make her an excellent addition to either of those Houses, she is, above all, loyal and hard working."
Harry paled, "Wait, does that mean… I'm the Slytherin in our House?"
"Clever and cunning, with a hunger to change our world into one that is more just and equitable? One can hardly be more ambitious than that, my Lord Slytherin."
Other ghosts appeared, although in Dreamscape, they were as corporeal as the Lady Ravenclaw.
"As you each represent aspects of the original founders, you will be attended at all times by your House ghost. Do not worry, we shall, for the most part, remain unseen, but always just a call away. We can be used to send messages, or to look ahead if you need to know the lay of the land, as it were."
Hermione asked, "Forgive me, Lady Helena, but are we all sleeping, I mean, will we not rest this evening?"
"Not to worry, Lady Hufflepuff, you will all awaken fresh and rested come morning. In the meantime, let us try to research the nature of the evil that is approaching."
Saying that the students and their "assistants" appeared in the present-day Hogwarts library.
"I would suggest a quick study of current events, then a look at the events that lead up to our present, apparently endangered state."
Hermione was thrilled that the Dreamscape library was both current and accessible.
The four students poured over newspaper and magazine articles, both foreign and domestic, then read through stories of the rise of the 20th century dark lords. Reasoning that, if they could find the source of the evil, they could do something about it.
)O(
True to Lady Helena's word, the four students awoke refreshed. The Head Boy and Girl's rooms shared a bathroom, so Harry and Hermione took turns cleaning up and preparing for the day. They met Neville and Pansy in the common room and, together, they walked down to breakfast.
They were early, and, as there were very few students up at that time, the Bloody Baron appeared holding the ear of Peeves, the Poltergeist.
The baron admonished the mischievous spirit, "You see these four? They are under my protection. All who wear the violet and gold are under my protection. I would be most, displeased should any misfortune come their way. You will be even more so if any mischief is traced back to you!"
"Sah, yes sah! They are under your protection, your bloodiness, sah!"
With a nod and a wink, the baron sank through the floor.
Neville shrugged, "Well, that was odd."
Pansy groaned, "Oh bloody hell, it's Malfoy."
The blond ponce of Slytherin approached the table, nodded to Harry and Hermione and asked, "With your permission, I would like to talk to Pansy."
Harry answered, "That would be up to Pansy."
"Can we talk?"
"Anything you have to say can be said here in front of my friends."
"May I sit?"
"Suit yourself."
"The hat was going to put you in Slytherin, how did you stop it? More importantly, why did you stop it?"
"I only asked if it were possible to place me in another House."
"Why would you do that? The Parkinsons have been Slytherins forever."
"Exactly, because my family has been in Slytherin forever. We don't have friends, we have co-conspirators or lackeys, we don't create, we scheme, and whenever a dark lord ascends, there you'll find the Parkinsons. And others."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I don't want to be a tool. I don't want to be used by the next Voldemort who comes along!"
"You dare say his name?"
Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer, "Fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself."
Draco desperately wanted to snarl at the interruption, but remembered who these two were rumoured to be.
"Yes, I dare. It's a stupid name, don't you know your French, Malfoy? It means flight of death, or rather, flight from death. Merlin's hairy balls, how drunk was he to come up with that shite?"
"Language."
"Sorry, Your Grace. The point is, certain families gambled their fortunes, their very lives on that pathetic loser, and I don't want to follow them when the next pathetic loser comes along."
Draco's ears went from pink to red.
"My father was imperioused, you know that."
"As far as the Ministry knows, that is. Oh, by the way, Draco, whatever happened to that lovely beach estate the Malfoys used to have near Brighton? Oh, that's right, the Fudges own that now."
"We had to pay off some old debts…"
"Draco, wake up and smell the shite, your pardon, my lady. At the rate your father is going through the Malfoy fortune how much do you think will be left for you?"
The scion of the Malfoy family begged his leave and walked away, stiff backed.
"Baron." Harry whispered.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Keep an eye on him, will you?"
"Aye, my lord."
Neville asked, "Is he going to be a problem?"
Pansy sighed, "Not so much him, but his father was deep into Voldemort's camp. He bribed his way out of trouble, hell, he didn't even stand trial."
He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "I just want you to know…"
Pansy turned to Neville, "What?"
"I've got your back."
Pansy smiled. It startled everyone at the table. Pansy was pretty when she smiled.
Professor Sinestra arrived with their schedules.
Harry read over his and said, "Charms and Transfiguration and Herbology today, then Astronomy tonight. Let's go get some House points."
Professor Filius Flitwick enjoyed teaching, watching the light come on when a student sussed the right flick and swish; that was real magic.
The "Founder's Four," as they had been dubbed at the welcoming feast came in with confidence clearly beyond their years.
They sat at the front two tables, quills poised, eager to learn.
As Filius lectured the quills scratched furiously, when he demonstrated the various charms they'd be expected to do over the course of the year he noted a bit of disappointment on the part of the Merlins.
After class, the four stayed behind.
Pansy, the most Ravenclaw of the group asked, "Professor, could we please go beyond the most basic assignments. We'll be happy to do the class work and any charms assignments, sir, but we're all capable of doing so much more."
Professor Flitwick raised a gnarled eyebrow, "So if I to ask the difference between a charm and a curse, you would say?"
"Intent, Professor. If the magic is neutral or benign, it's a charm, if it is commonly used for harm it's a curse."
"Who here can perform a simple levitation?"
All four hands went up.
"Would you care to demonstrate?"
Neville, who had been coached on just this topic in Dreamscape flicked and swished and levitated Professor Flitwick's desk into the middle of the room. The other three moved it around before Pansy took over and placed it back on the ground in exactly the same spot it had been at the outset.
The littlest professor, obviously discombobulated, stuttered, "I will draw up some lesson plans more appropriate to your skill level."
"Oh," Pansy said, almost as an afterthought, "I was thinking, we should resurrect the Charms Club, to promote a better understanding of and appreciation for Charms at Hogwarts." With an impish grin she added, "We could call ourselves 'The Charmers,' don't you think?"
Flitwick smiled broadly, "If you organize it, I'll sponsor it, Miss Parkinson."
"Thank you, Professor, good day!"
Transfiguration went much the same.
Matchsticks into needles, too easy. Buttons into beetles, puleeze! They were even beyond teacups to turtles. Trevor, the toad, made a particularly nice trivet.
A very pleased Minerva McGonagall enthused, "I will have a new set of goals and objectives for you by the end of this week."
Neville asked for, and received permission to organize a Transfiguration Studies Club.
First year Defence was all about identifying dangers in the magical world. For a cryptozoologist with half Harry's skill the class was a cakewalk. Professor Quirrell, however, wasn't at all accommodating.
"Muh, Mister Uh, Evans, I have to find a muh, middle ground to teach. I ka, can't be expected to muh, make a whole new lesson plan for fuh, four students."
"Very well, sir, it doesn't hurt to ask."
They sat in front, as usual, quills at the ready when Professor Snape flowed into the classroom, black robes billowing.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..." Snape turned to see the two potions prodigies in the front row, and his manner softened, "Who possess, the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."
At the end of class, Harry asked, "Professor?"
"You feel that the standard curriculum for first year potions is somewhat beneath you, and hope to move on to lessons that are more appropriate to your skills?"
Harry nodded.
"It just so happens that I need to update the Ordinary Wizarding Level syllabus, I trust you know what that entails?"
Harry swallowed hard, "Yes, sir, it's the examination the ministry uses to award OWLs in potions."
"Think you're… up for it?"
"I believe, with your guidance, we will be, sir."
"Good answer, Evans. Now, I can't have you brewing polyjuice potion in the first year labs, so I propose you act as class assistants, do finish the class work, which, for you, I suspect will be laughably easy. Then watch over the first years, as they have a tendency to blow themselves up from time to time. At the end of the day we can spend an hour or two revising the O W L curriculum and practical exams."
"Professor…"
"Yes, Evans, you may organize a Potions Group. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall have forewarned me."
"Thank you, Professor."
Sitting in the History of Magic with Binns was beyond mind numbing. When next they saw Professor Sinestra they pleaded to be removed from that class, to do independent study, anything but sit through hours of goblin wars read as dry as dust.
"Tell you what, just treat the History class as a personal study time, and I'll talk to the other heads, we may finally be able to get Professor Binns to get some eternal rest."
The next faculty meeting was one for the archives.
Whenever the subject of sacking Professor Binns came up in the past, Dumbledore's sock-puppets, McGonagall and Snape would block Flitwick and Sprout, but now there was a fifth House, a tie-breaker. Worse, the Founder's Four had impressed all their teachers to the point that anything they suggested was acted upon.
A class to bring muggle-born and muggle-raised students up to speed with their witch and wizard contemporaries? No problem.
A Charms Club, a Transfiguration Club, a Potions Club? Done. And his three busiest professors, happily volunteered to sponsor the activities.
Four first years had accomplished more to unite the Four Houses in one term than he and his professors had in the past two decades.
Having endured yet another dull meeting, Albus asked, hopefully, "New business?"
He was about to adjourn when Professor Sinestra stood. "Professor Dumbledore, it's about Professor Binns…"
Merlin's hairy balls! Not that old chestnut… Again!
"Professor Binns provides a unique point of view and commentary, not to mention continuity in the teaching of history here at Hogwarts."
Flitwick stood on his chair, "I know for a fact, Albus, that the only reason my Claws do so well on their History of Magic OWLs is because they study materials gathered on their own. That Binns, in fact, teaches nothing."
The Headmaster sighed, "Before we send any recommendations to the Board of Governors, we must have a majority of heads in agreement. He looked benignly at Snape and McGonagall, then asked, "All in favor of recommending termination of the longest-standing teacher in the History of Hogwarts."
Professors Flitwick and Sprout raised their hands, then Professor SiGestra.
Uh - oh. Still, not an overwhelming majority. No matter, the headmaster could still stalemate it by casting a vote himself.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
Severus Snape's hand went up, followed by Minerva McGonagall's.
Ashen faced, without another word, Dumbledore stood, then left the room.
The professors looked at each other and shrugged.
Minerva moved to the head of the table, "As deputy Headmistress I call the vote passed in favor of terminating the late Professor Binns, and wish him nothing but success in his afterlife."
"Meeting adjourned!"
The history class was moved to a different classroom and would be taught by a sandy haired, soft spoken wizard by the name of Professor R J Lupin. Binns would still teach his class, there simply wouldn't be anyone in the class to teach. Frankly, everyone was happier that way.
)O(
Sirius Black sat in the dingy corner of the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Every surface in the room was covered in layers of oily dust. His fingertips left streaks on the equally dusty bottle of Ogden's Finest, aged in the barrel, seventy-seven years.
The past month had been a roller-coaster ride.
"Has it been a month?" He asked himself.
One month before, to the day, he'd heard keys scraping as they were fitted into the thick iron door of his cell. He was in his Padfoot form, flat against the door where he could transform and not be seen.
Four guards attended him.
"Where we goin'?" he'd managed to croak out, unused to speaking aloud.
"Gotta get you cleaned up, you have ta see a judge." One of the guards finally said.
"In here, get yerself washed."
Sirius stripped without hesitation, or modesty, and luxuriated under a hot shower for a good ten minutes.
Another of the guards charmed the nits out of Sirius's hair and gave him a toothbrush, razor and comb.
When the convict was finished brushing, shaving and combing he was led to another part of the prison he'd never seen, the infirmary.
Therein his vitals were recorded and he was given nutrient and restorative potions.
Then he received a clean tunic, robe and soft boots, along with a soft, warm overcloak to protect him from the biting North Sea cold as he was led to the dock, where a small sailboat waited to take him back to the world.
Half way to the Scottish north coast he realized something, he hadn't been shackled and hobbled the way he'd been on the trip out. There were no magic-suppression manacles on him and he was being treated with common respect and courtesy.
The boat sailed into Buckie five hours later. Sirius followed his guards to the Scottish Ministry Office on the wharf.
A local magistrate handed him a metal hoop and told him to hold on tight. As soon as two of the Azkaban guards grabbed the hoop as well, Sirius felt the familiar tug at his navel. The three men appeared in the portkey port of the Ministry of Magic in London.
He was led into the chambers, but not placed in the accused chair, rather, he was in the gallery, where he watched with total amazement as Peter Pettigrew was questioned under veritaserum.
At the end of the proceedings, the Judge, a portly man of middling years, turned to Sirius.
"Lord Black, I can only say that you have been ill used, and this court and Her Majesty's Government, must accept, in part, some of the responsibility for that. It is my privilege to declare you a free man, and to restore to you your titles, your properties and your fortune. And while I don't expect you to ever forgive this judiciary, I do offer you our most sincere and humble apology, Lord Black."
Free.
Free at last!
What to do, where to go, who to see?
Harry.
Got to find Harry, my godson!
I should never have let him out of my sight. Then I wouldn't have gone off looking for Peter. We could have had a life together. We still can.
He looked up at the Judge, "Milord, can you tell me where my godson is staying, can you take me to him? His name is Harry Potter, and I am his Godfather."
There was an uncomfortable shuffling in the gallery.
"My Lord Black, I wish, more than anything, that I could take you to him. But that is no longer possible."
"What? Why?"
"Because, my lord, young Master Potter is missing, and presumed dead at the hands of his muggle relations."
The unfettered fury that exploded from Sirius Blacks magical core sent wave after wave of destructive energy pulsing through the gallery.
The judge, having seen this type of accidental magic before, touched the shield runes that protected all the people in the chamber. People were unharmed, furnishings and papers and quills, not so much.
Bailiffs moved forward to restrain the grieving mage, but the Judge stopped them, saying, "We've stolen ten years of this man's life, we can stand the loss of a few sticks of furniture."
Finally his rage was spent, and he collapsed, sobbing, to the chamber floor.
Several minutes later, he stood, apologized to the Judge and the others present, then left the chambers.
One week later he sat in his hereditary seat on the Wizengamont, and when new business was announced he stood.
"My Lords, it has come to my attention, these past few years, that justice in Magical Britain is broken. It is my intention to fix it."
He raised a sheaf of parchments, "Let us begin with the actions of the Chief Warlock of this, our Wizengamot…"
By the end of the day, there was a new Chief Warlock, and a strongly worded proposal was prepared for delivery to the International Confederation of Wizards.
Albus Dumbledore did not have a good week.
The following week, Sirius haunted the offices of scryers, seers, readers of cards, crystals and entrails. He even sought out a necromancer. But no one could find Harry James Potter, living or dead.
The large Jamaican Medium laid down her last card and said, "Ah am sorry, Mon, truly. But da boy you seek, he don' exist. He, like as not, nevah has."
Sirius's voice trembled, "Everyone tells me you're the best, Mother Marga, and you say my Godson is, what, gone?"
"No, and it breaks my heart ta be tellin' you dis. But de cards say, you boy has nevah been."
He tried to hand the medium a gold galleon, but the spiritualist refused, "I don' take you gold, lessen' I give you satisfaction."
"You have, Mother Marga. You've told me where not to look."
And he left the coin, and left the house, went to the least appealing of his London properties, Grimmauld Place, and looked for Harry in the bottom of a bottle.
He looked at the oily streaks on the glass and wondered aloud, not for the first time. "Was it all just a dream?"
The last thing he expected was to get an answer.
)O(
"Good morning, class, welcome to your first flying lesson, I'm Madame Hooch. Well, what are you waiting for?"
"Stand to the left of the broom, place your right hand over the handle and say up! It's very important to say it clearly, authoritatively."
The first two brooms that smacked into palms were Harry and Pansy's.
Hermione's rolled on the ground like a puppy wanting its belly rubbed. "Oh, bother! Harry, may I ride your broomstick? Mine's being difficult."
Pansy turned beet red in her supreme effort to control the howls of laughter threatening to explode. She was going to have to have a long talk with Her Grace, the Royal Consort.
Harry handed his over and said, "Anytime you want, my lady. You never even have to ask."
She nudged hers over to Harry, who summoned it effortlessly.
Madame Hooch continued, "Very good, now, keeping a firm grip on the broom's handle, step astride it. You should sense the cushioning charm as you relax onto your broom. When I blow the whistle, you'll start off with a basic hover, then touch down, ready?"
Harry and Pansy stood on either side of Neville, knowing that he was terrified at the prospect of flying, well, falling.
The broom knew it too. And decided to take off like a deranged rocket.
"Mr Longbottom!"
Madame Hooch wasn't on a broom, but Harry, Hermione and Pansy were. Neville's broom was three seconds ahead, which may not sound like much, but try winning a sprint against a runner as fast as you and see who gets to the finish line first with a three second head start.
The three other Founders flattened themselves along their broomsticks to cut down on air resistance, and quickly caught up with Neville's bucking, flailing broomstick. The rocky slope of a Scottish hill grew ever larger in their path.
"Pull up, Neville, pull up on the front of the broom stick!"
He did, and the aging besom must have known he meant business because it shot straight up, Harry and the girls in hot pursuit.
Harry caught up first, "Neville, there's a stirrup back by the broom-straw, put your right foot down on it. Good, now your left, a little lower, that's it! Now, it's just like riding a bicycle."
"I don't know how to ride a bicycle!"
"We'll get you one for Christmas, what's your favorite colour?"
"What?"
"The bicycle, what colour do you want."
Neville thought about it, and the broom calmed down.
Pansy flew up to his other side and shouted, "Excellent, Neville, now, move the stick, slowly left, and lean into it."
They did a perfect left banking turn in diamond formation, with Neville at the point.
"Now right!"
He did, again a perfectly executed turn. The foursome looked like a precision flying squad.
Harry smiled to see his best male friend beaming, "I'm doin' it, I'm really flying!"
A few simple maneuvers, mostly climbing and diving, always in perfect formation.
After a few minutes, Harry called out, "Let's head back, nice and easy."
They touched down on the green to cheers and applause.
"Mr Longbottom," Madame Hooch said, crossly, "Let me see that broomstick!"
Neville surrendered the broom and looked on as Madame Hooch clucked and tisked, "The fletching straws are shot, there are stress cracks all along the length of this relic. Not your fault Mr Longbottom, this broom should have been binned long ago."
Neville held his hand out for the broom, "If you're just going to bin it, ma'am, may I have it, please?"
"I'll have to disenchant it first, it's not safe."
"That's fine, I would just like to have it, Madame Hooch."
A quick wave of her wand, and the broom was simply a broom, "Here you are."
"Thanks. Good lesson. Looking forward to the next one."
Neville walked away, Pansy by his side, the broomstick that taught him he could fly over his right shoulder. He stopped at the edge of the pitch, turned back and said, "Oh, Harry?"
"Yeah, Neville?"
"Red."
"Beg pardon?"
"I'd like a red bicycle for Christmas."
"You've got it, mate!"
)O(
"Clotho, Lachesis, and Athropos did not deliver you from Hell just to watch you drink yourself to death, my friend."
Sirius looked up through bleary eyes and asked, "Remus?"
"Here, drink this." Remus Lupin told him, offering a small beaker filled with cloudy, amber liquid.
"Whaz zis?"
"It's what you need, first."
Sirius raised the beaker, "To my godson, the boy who never was…" downed it in a single gulp, and looked up at his old Marauder mate. "…got anymore?"
Remus half smiled, "Not just yet, where is the loo?"
"Down the hall, up the stair, firs' door on the right."
"You'd better get started then."
"I don' need th' loo."
"You will, in about, oh, fifteen seconds. I'd get a head start if I were you."
Sirius's digestive tract rumbled and grumbled in the loudest example of borborygmus ever heard in the whole of London, magical or otherwise.
Eyes wide as saucers, he shot to his feet and half ran, half fell down the hall, up the stair and through the first door on his right.
Whistling a little tune, Remus picked up the small rubbish bin from the kitchen corner and followed his best friend at a leisurely pace.
He'll be needing this as well.
Forty minutes later Sirius stumbled back down the stair, "What in Merlin's name did you do to me?"
"A present from Poppy, a combination purgative, diuretic and laxative, guaranteed to detoxify in one dose."
"I hate that witch." He turned one bloodshot eye to Remus, "I hate you too, right now."
"Yeah, well, you'll get over it."
"Harry's gone."
"I know."
"It's like he never was."
"I know."
"Except he was. I was the first to hold him, after James and Lily." Tears streaked down his face.
"And now you want to kill yourself? Damn it man, you survived ten years, ten years in Azkaban. Now you're going to throw it all away?"
"What can I do?"
"You can choose life. Harry wouldn't want you to give up. He doesn't want anyone to die for him - that won't bring him back. He needs us to go on living, to keep his memory alive. That's our focus now, not dying for him, but living, because that's what he would want."
Sirius palmed the tears from his grimy face, "What do I do now?"
"First thing? Take a bath, you reek. I could smell you from outside and it's nowhere near a full moon!"
Sirius nodded meekly and shuffled back up the stairs.
An hour later, freshly bathed, shaved and combed he practically fell onto the plate of Shepherd's Pie Remus had prepared.
"You need to drink at least a litre of water now, and another before you go to bed."
Sirius did, and didn't realize how tired he was until his head hit the pillow and he started dreaming.
Harry was there. He was eighteen months old, James had balanced his oversized glasses on his son's nose. That, and his unruly locks made him look like a caricature of his dad.
The baby boy looked up at Sirius and said, "So kay, unka Paddy, don' be sad."
Weeping, Sirius slept.
)O(
A shout out to Jabarber69 for his suggestion, ' How about Merlin for a fifth house?' It's a good fit for this story.
This chapter was brilliantly Brit-picked by the inestimable Tommy King, take a bow, Tommy!