Part 1, chapter 4 - Perpetual Motion
26th December, 2010, 1:45 p.m. X' removed to S'':
"Just imagine," Remus said with a hungry look on his face, picking up the cup. "Voldemort gone. We could live... normal life again."
"That'd be something, wouldn't it," Ron said. "I don't think I remember what normal life looks like anymore." He looked over his shoulder at Hermione.
As it happened, Hermione ended up coming back to Hogwarts before they did. Harry's injury, which Ron suspected had been worse than he admitted, slowed them down - not to mention that once the emergency had ended, Harry found it impossible to concentrate enough to Apparate. Even Sirius and Ron's warnings on the impending arrival of the Ministry didn't do the job.
Strange as it felt, Ron found himself hoping Harry's wound really turned out to be serious. It was either that, he knew, or Harry was getting worse. Usually he managed to keep it together as long as there was still danger out there. Usually, until they were completely safe and hidden, Harry had managed to stay alert and keep up with them. If that was no longer the case... he shook his head.
They ended up taking Harry in side-along Apparition to the gates of Hogwarts - and then Ron had to rely on Sirius to bring Madam Pomfrey, who helped Harry get directly to the hospital wing.
"There's no point in you waiting here," she snapped at him, and so he ended up going to Dumbledore's office, to bring him the cup, another Horcrux found. Hermione was already there and chatting happily with Remus.
"What took you so long?" she asked him. She, like him, had expected his group to come back much earlier.
"Ran into Death Eaters in Diagon Alley," he gave the short version of events.
"Is Harry..."
"He got a little burnt up. Madam Pomfrey is taking care of him." He could see it in her eyes, how worried she was. He himself had so much to discuss with her - but not there, not in front of Sirius and Remus, in front of James Potter and Lily Po - Lily Evans-Snape, and especially not in front of Severus Snape.
Hermione understood, of course. Instead of questioning him further, she went to talk to Snape and his wife. Ron shook his head. Mental. And then Remus started with his own dreams. Normal life... right, Ron thought. I'll believe it when I see it. And maybe not even then.
"Hi," someone else joined them - James Potter. Brilliant. "How are you, Ron?" he asked in a friendly voice.
Ron remembered what his mother had said at some point, after James Potter went home the night before - apparently, they had known each other quite well. Apparently, James Potter was his godfather. Of all the odd things... "Fine," he mumbled.
The door opened. Harry walked into the room. His left arm was all bandaged. Definitely worse than he realised, Ron thought, and felt slightly ashamed of the relief that washed over him. Next to him, he could hear James Potter shuffling uncomfortably, and threw a look at the man. Once again, he was struck how similar the two of them looked. Lily, he thought, could deny her connection to Harry, pretend there was nothing between her and him. For James, that wasn't an option - not when Harry was a walking proof, with his face almost identical to James Potter's and his hair sticking up in all direction, just like Potter's. Hell, they were even almost the same height.
Harry didn't notice James at first. He walked all the way to Ron, and only once he got there did he look up and see James - and was then taken aback, too.
Ron looked from Harry, to James, to Harry again. "Listen, you two probably want to talk, I should leave you two - "
"No!" James said - and to his surprise, Harry said the exact same thing, at the exact same time. Even their voices sounded the same. Ron shook his head and chuckled. James joined him in laughter, and even Harry cracked a smile.
"Fine, fine, I'll stay."
"Ron..." James started again. "Listen, we didn't have much time to talk yesterday. I never had the chance to apologise about the way I treated you back at Godric's Hollow - I thought you were..."
"S'alright," Ron shrugged it off. "I know, it's all kinda odd. I know you all thought I was dead, and Sirius told me what had happened, so don't worry about it."
James Potter smiled in relief. "It's so weird," he confessed. "Good - but weird."
"'Mental' is what you mean," Harry said. "That's how this whole place feels like. I guess you guys think we're just as mental." He was still grinning when he said that.
Ron could practically feel James's relief - and no wonder, he thought. That must have been the first time he had ever seen Harry smile. Just to keep everything lighthearted, he said, "Yeah, but we're right and they're wrong." All three of them laughed in response.
All of a sudden Harry stopped laughing, and instead, fixed on James. "So you and my mu - Lily," he corrected himself, "you never got together?"
"Nah," James said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she was always good looking, but she was dating Severus."
"What about you and Sirius?"
"Black?" James looked something between confused and worried. "No, I've never dated him either."
Ron bit back his laughter. Harry stopped in confusion. "Erm, no, I meant... weren't you friends at Hogwarts?" he said finally.
"No," James said carefully, slowly. "Why would...? He was in Slytherin, I was in Gryffindor... usually kids from these two houses don't get along. I mean, I don't know, maybe in your weird minds things happened differently, but generally, Gryffindors and Slytherins stay the hell away from each other."
Ron and Harry looked at one other for a moment. Sirius? Ron mouthed the word 'Slytherin' at the same time Harry did. "Er," he said now, "is Remus a Slytherin too?"
"Oh," James paused for a moment. "I never thought about it like that. No, he's a Gryffindor. Lily, too."
"So I take it some Gryffindors did hang out with Slytherins," Ron said. Harry just stared at the trio in the corner - Snape, Lily, and Hermione, all chatting together. Hermione's entire body language was lighthearted and comfortable. Lily seemed comfortable too, engaged in an animated discussion with Hermione. Even Snape looked at ease.
"I guess," James admitted. "Look, me and Black, we just never liked each other too much. And me and Snape, too. Snape and Black and Lupin had their little group, I had my friends. Why does it matter?"
"He was - is - was my godfather," Harry said.
James was now the one to be taken aback. Ron could see the idea of asking Sirius to be the godfather of his son was not only alien to him - it was unthinkable. "Hey," he told Harry, "maybe we should keep this stuff for ourselves. Better not confuse them."
"Yeah," James said, staring at Harry. "Don't get me wrong, er, Harry, I'm sure he's important to you and everything, just, it's strange enough having you here without hearing you saying I'm supposed to be Black's best friend or something."
"Sure," Harry said, the disappointment clear in his voice. "Excuse me."
Ron followed him with his eyes across the room. Harry wandered aimlessly for a while. Ron thought he might start talking to Remus, or to Sirius, but whenever he got close to either one of them, he seemed to have changed his mind, and went elsewhere. He didn't even go near Snape and Lily. Eventually, he walked to Dumbledore's desk, and started looking at the Horcruxes. Ron's heart fell when he saw him sending a hand to the ring, putting it back, picking it up again. What was it Remus said? 'Normal life'... What a joke. "Excuse me," he said, and went to Harry.
"I trust Hermione broke the curses on the ring?" he asked him, his voice as casual as he could make it.
"Yeah," Harry said absently.
"You know that ring's no good," he tried again.
"Yeah," Harry sounded still unconvinced.
"Harry, I've been thinking."
"What about?"
Picking up the ring, putting it down, picking it up again... "Could you stop messing around with this thing?" Ron snapped. Harry put down the ring. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Anyway, I've been thinking. Once we get rid of Voldemort - "
"- again - "
"Yeah, exactly, once we get rid of Voldemort again... we could try to live a normal life at last. We were going to get married, me and Hermione you remember? And I know Ginny doesn't know you, but I could introduce you, she's really the same person, you just need to talk to her - "
"What about Malfoy?"
Ron blinked. "Malfoy? What about him?"
"When we defeated Voldemort." Harry was once again playing with the ring, not looking at Ron.
"Would you - what the hell are you talking about? Stop messing with that thing and start talking sense, will you?"
"Malfoy, Ron, Malfoy!" Harry talked to Ron as if he was the one who made no sense at all. "Once we defeated Voldemort, Malfoy took over!"
"This isn't - Dumbledore's here, Harry, for Merlin's sake, Dumbledore and Sirius and Remus and your parents, they're all here, Voldemort hasn't even taken over the Ministry. This isn't going to happen, we're going to defeat him, it's going to be over!"
Harry looked at him, and Ron could see that he might as well have been talking a different language. "Malfoy took over," Harry repeated.
Ron swore loudly. Several heads turned in his direction. "Look, Harry, just... stay here, alright? And when Dumbledore's back, don't let him see that ring!" he snapped, and went to talk to Hermione.
She was still sitting with Snape and Lily. An outsider would have probably assumed they were chatting happily, or just gossiping, but Ron knew Hermione better than that. Indeed, he could see a small notebook in her hand, and she was writing, in red and black ink, page after page.
"Hi," he smiled at Snape and Lily, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. His discomfort intensified when he was not greeted by any sarcastic or nasty reply from Snape. "We need to talk," he told Hermione while doing his best to ignore Snape altogether.
"Now?" she raised an eyebrow. "I'm in the middle of - "
"Now."
"I'll be right back," she told Snape and Lily. Lily smiled at her, and Snape said they'll be waiting.
"That's just creepy as hell," Ron whispered as soon as they were far enough away from Snape.
"What is?"
"Snape! He's almost... nice."
She tutted in impatience. "Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Snape being nice?"
"No. Harry."
She sighed. "What about him this time?"
"He's really losing it, Hermione. Not just the magic. We were talking about what we'd do after we defeated Voldemort, and all he could talk about was Malfoy. He's convinced Malfoy is going to show up out of the blue, just 'cause we remember it happened. He doesn't understand things are different now!"
Hermione looked at him without saying a word. She looked far away, reluctant, and so very unhappy. He didn't like that look, didn't like it at all. It was like he was the delusional one. "What?" he asked.
"I'm not sure he's wrong."
"What?" he stared at her in disbelief. "Malfoy doesn't have any basis for taking over here! Voldemort didn't take over the Ministry! If he goes down, life goes back to normal! Dumbledore's here, c'mon, he wouldn't dare do anything - and, I mean, Malfoy planned it for months, for years, even, he wouldn't get the chance!"
"Yes, but Ron..." she bit her lip, then, reluctantly, completed the sentence. "You're assuming our memories are the problem."
"What d'you mean, 'course they're the problem, look at the world around you - "
"And what about everyone else's memories?" she asked. "Remembering seeing the both of us die? Harry never being born? No, that doesn't make any sense." She looked at Harry. "It's like there's two worlds, you know? Two worlds that started completely the same, and then - and then something happened. The smallest of events, the most insignificant detail. And all of a sudden, you've got two different worlds. One in which James got married to Lily, and they had a son, and Voldemort went after him - and one where he was never born."
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, exasperated.
"We don't belong here, Ron," she said. "All these inconsistencies, all these little mistakes, all these memories - it can't be just some weird magic gone wrong. And no one's ever heard of anything like that, of any magic, not even Dumbledore, Ron, even he doesn't understand it! This place, it's a completely different place to the one we know. We don't belong here."
"So what?"
"So... once we get Neville back... we need to go back."
He looked at her aghast. Surely, she was joking?
"Let's say you're right. For a moment. And let's say you're also right and we can go back, whatever the hell that means - Hermione, this world, it's perfect! No one will be chasing us here! Voldemort will be dead, Malfoy certainly isn't going to be a problem, we'll finally be free! We could get married - Hermione, my family's here, they're alive - and Harry, I mean, he's completely messed up and you know that, he could get the help he needs here, go to St Mungo's for a bit or something! Your parents would love to have you here, their daughter's dead, no? And Neville's grandmother - what about Mrs Longbottom? What about Neville, you know how he misses his gran! What on earth are you talking about, this place is perfect, why would we ever want to leave?" he finished, completely disgusted.
He didn't realise he was raising his voice, he was almost shouting at her. Now that he had finished talking, he could see the tears, appearing in her eyes.
"No, Hermione," he said, much more softly than before, "I didn't mean..."
"Don't you think I want to stay here, too?" she whispered.
"Then why can't we?" he almost begged. She just shook her head, unable to speak.
"What about Luna?" he heard a new voice - Harry's.
"Luna?" he asked, his eyes still planted firmly on Hermione.
"Luna. And Dean, and Anthony, and Padma, and Parvati," Harry said softly. "We can't abandon them, can we?"
"Maybe... we can bring them here, maybe, if we understand what happened... make sure..."
"It's like looking into the Mirror of Erised, this place," Harry said, almost wistfully. "Your heart's biggest desire. I think... Dumbledore told me that once, didn't he. That you can't just go on looking at it forever. It ruins you. You forget to live."
Finally Ron removed his eyes from Hermione, looked at Harry instead. "You call what we do living?" he asked bitterly. "You don't even know what it's like, living a normal life, do you."
"Ahem," someone coughed behind them. Dumbledore. To his surprise, Harry's hand closed around the ring he was still holding and as if the conversation between them hadn't just happened, he gave Ron a reassuring look. Ron had told him not to let Dumbledore see the ring - and he wasn't going to. Ron wasn't sure whether his urge to laugh was stronger than his urge to shout.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, studied the cup with interest. "Fascinating," he mumbled to himself. Ron couldn't help but smile. "But there was supposed to be another - a ring, no?" Dumbledore asked.
"Hermione's got it," Harry lied promptly, his hand closing up even tighter on the ring. "Better let her keep it, really."
Ron couldn't help himself. He started laughing.
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said. Ron just laughed harder.
"May someone, please, explain what is going on here?" Dumbledore said coldly. Ron couldn't help but noticed that for first time since his interrogation at that first night, he was aiming his words at Harry.
Harry, however, didn't back down. "It's complicated, Headmaster," he said, and Ron was surprised to hear that his voice was equally as cold.
"Then uncomplicate it, if you may."
"You can't have the ring," Harry said simply. "It stays with us, until we destroy all the Horcruxes." Now everyone was looking at Harry in shock, except for Dumbledore. He was looking him with something that felt more like fury. And yet, when he spoke, his voice was calm and level.
"I don't think it is up to you, Mr Potter, to tell me what I can or cannot have," he said.
"Harry," Hermione started, but Harry ignored her. "In this case," he said, "I think it is."
"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hermione tried again, now appealing to Dumbledore, "don't you think that if we keep the ring away from you, we have a good reason to do so?"
"To be honest, Ms Granger, I'm not sure this man can recognise what constitutes a good reason."
Harry took a step closer to Dumbledore. His hand clutched his wand, visibly shaking. "Harry," Hermione said again, at the same time as Ron jumped. "Harry, calm down," he tried, too. Harry ignored them both. He now faced Dumbledore, their faces inches apart.
"It's not just a ring," he said clearly. "The ring has a stone set in it. A stone that used to belong to Voldemort's ancestors. The Peverell family."
All of a sudden, the spirit was gone from Albus Dumbledore. Each one of his many years could be seen for just a moment on the old Headmaster's face. "The Peverells?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Harry said, still coldly, still refusing to back down, even though now his voice shook, together with his hand. "You can't have it."
"I see," Dumbledore said calmly. The surprise was all gone from his face now, and he looked just as measured and composed as he always had. Harry, on the other hand, was shaking violently. Whether with rage, grief, or frustration, Ron didn't know.
"Harry," he said again. "Calm down."
Harry didn't calm down - but he did go and find himself a chair. From it, he kept on staring at Dumbledore, but quietly this time - at least for a while.
"Well," Dumbledore was now looking at Hermione, who still looked uncomfortable and wrong-footed herself. "Looks like we only have two Horcruxes left. Shall you tell us how we're going to find those?"
Hermione didn't answer. Neither did Ron. It was Harry who opened his mouth first, again. "This, Headmaster," he said, still just as angry as he was a moment ago, "is when things get really complicated."
26th December, 2010, 3:12 p.m.
This late into December, there were no students at Hogwarts to walk on the snow, squash it or just move it around. There were no children constructing snow castles and snowmen or working out their complicated strategies for battles in the snow. There was also almost no one to notice when two adults started playing in the snow just like children.
Sirius was surprised at the fondness he felt as he looked outside the window and saw Harry and Ron each forming perfect, huge snowballs to throw at one other.
"Gotcha now!" Ron shouted in triumph, as a particularly large snowball crashed on Harry's face.
"You think?" Harry shouted gleefully in reply, and before Ron managed to flee, a huge chunk of snow splattered on his head.
"They seem like they're having fun," he commented to Hermione, who was standing next to him, looking at the two with an odd, melancholic smile on her face. In one hand, she was holding a small notebook, full of scribblings. She had been talking to his friends ever since she got there, writing down everything they said in that little notebook of hers. In her other hand, she held an old, dirty piece of cloth in a bundle.
"Yeah," she said now. "It's been forever since we could just go out to the snow and mess about."
"I'd have thought you'd want to join them," he said gently.
"There's more important things to take care of," she said, and whatever longing that was in her voice before disappeared completely. Back to business. Sirius sighed. It was hard to tell her to lighten up, not when he remembered her story - not when he saw all three of them, all the time. Not when they had proven so helpful to them, and asked so little in return. And still, he would have liked her not to be all businesslike so much of the time.
"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "Taking care of more important things?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "I need to talk to you."
They weren't in Albus's office anymore. Hermione asked to see him in private, and had asked Lily to use her own office at Hogwarts. Sirius knew the office, of course - he had been there countless times. It was interesting, however, to see the way Hermione stared around her in trepidation.
"Everything alright?" he asked her.
"Yeah," she said, quite obviously distracted, then shook her head. "Sorry," she said, "the last time I've seen this office, it belonged to Minerva McGonagall."
"Oh," he said. Now things were becoming clear. "Minerva died. When Ron... she also died in the Ministry."
"Funny," she said quietly. "Last I checked, the Minerva McGonagall I remember was still alive."
"Really?" he asked, more in order to say something and not let the conversation slip into an awkward silence.
"Yeah. She was imprisoned in Azkaban."
He didn't know what to say. So he said nothing. Hermione stared for a long time through the window, at her two friends playing like children outside.
Eventually, he coughed. "Anyway, I've noticed you've been talking to Lily and Severus and Remus and Po- James Potter. I guess now it's my turn?" he asked, trying to present the question as lightly as possible.
She turned from the window, and now fixed on him. "Yeah, Sirius. I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long, it's just that..." she paused and seemed to consider her next words for a moment. "The more I interviewed everyone else, the more I realised I needed to get to you last."
"Me? What's so important about me?" he asked, surprised.
"That's just it, isn't it? You wouldn't think that just one small, seemingly unimportant event... but I guess this is the way the world is."
"What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked her.
"Look for yourself."
She opened her notebook and showed him the sketches and timelines she had reconstructed during her interviews with everyone else. Black ink was when events corresponded to her own memories of events, she said, the version she and Ron and Harry remembered; green ink was when they differed.
Sev's story seemed almost completely green. He could see, not only the stories of their skirmishes with Voldemort, but his memories of Neville Longbottom as a student, all marked down nicely; his marriage to Lily; and further down the page, school day stories, all those nonsensical things they had done, Sev and Remus and Lily and himself. And in each and every one of them, Sirius's name was not only inked in green, but with a line under his name. Eventually, they got to Sev's unhappy childhood, and everything turned black again - everything corresponded to what Hermione thought she had known. The first comment in green, Sirius could see, was his own name. Sirius in Slytherin, it said.
He went on to Remus. There was more black here; less green. Sirius flipped back to the notes about their childhood. Hermione didn't seem to mind that Remus was a Gryffindor, or that he was a friend with Sirius; here it was Sev's name that was inked green, over and over again, and here and there, some small comments about James Potter or - Peter Pettigrew? Who the hell was Peter Pettigrew?
She did note down Remus's friendship with Lily as odd, although Sirius couldn't see why - they were both Gryffindors, and, after all, it was that friendship that had introduced them to Remus, because Lily and Sev had been friends long before Hogwarts. Finally, he could see the last comment, again, in green, before a sea of black. Sirius in Slytherin.
He was almost scared to turn to Lily's page. He remembered what Harry had told Dumbledore, that first night - the son of Lily Evans and James Potter. Lily's page, like Sev's, was almost all in green. Her marriage to Sev and their children, her activities after Voldemort's first downfall, her school days - and when he got to the very last green comment, before the page turned unmistakably black, he knew what it would be before reading it. Sirius in Slytherin.
"How did you end up in Slytherin, Sirius?" Hermione asked gently.
"All my family's been in Slytherin, Hermione," he said, slightly annoyed. "For centuries. As far back as anyone remembers. I think what you should ask yourself is how could I ever not end up in Slytherin."
"And yet... that's the first thing. Everything before that matches. Things started to change from events as we remember them when eleven year old Sirius Black was sorted into Slytherin. What happened that night, Sirius?"
Sorted into Slytherin... suddenly he realised what she had in her other hand. It wasn't an old cloth, it wasn't a bundle. It was the Sorting Hat. Did she already know, he wondered, but he told her anyway.
"That's the thing," he said. "I was never sorted into Slytherin."
She gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing. He went on.
"I caught Dragon Pox. Two weeks before term started. I must have been the most disappointed eleven year old kid in the world," he laughed. "At eleven, of course, Dragon Pox isn't deadly, not unless you're sensitive. So it wasn't a big deal, but I couldn't go to Hogwarts until we were sure I'm not contagious anymore. So I missed the first two weeks of school."
"And they just assumed you were a Slytherin?"
"Well, not quite. I got to Hogwarts quite late, around ten at night or so. McGonagall wanted to put the Sorting Hat on me, but that night something came up - I actually think it was James Potter, you know? I think he managed to blow up something, or was caught out of bed, can't remember. He always did stuff like that, that blithering idiot.
"Anyway, it was getting very late and I was a very tired eleven-year-old and still recovering from Dragon Pox. Keeping me up so late was out of the question. McGonagall knew that all Black family members always ended up in Slytherin, so she told me to go to the Slytherin dormitories for the night, and that the next day I'll be sorted, and if the Hat said anything other than Slytherin, they'd move me - although," he said with a smile, and he remembered Minerva's voice as she said that last statement, "I don't think she expected a different result."
He eyed the Hat apprehensively again. "The next day - well, you know what Hogwarts is like. Things came up. The only person who remembered I never got sorted was old Slughorn, and he was quite happy with me in Slytherin. I don't think he wanted me sorted, to be honest. I wasn't very happy with Slytherin, but I made friends that very first night with Sev, everything else felt comfortable, I didn't want to poke a sleeping dragon - you know, what happens if you end up a Hufflepuff and all those things kids think."
"Yeah," she said. "I know."
She looked silently at the Hat for a moment. "So you've never tried it on?" she asked.
He eyed it as well, an unexplained feeling of dread rushing over him all of a sudden. What difference did it make if he weren't a Slytherin? It was forty years ago - it had no relevance to their lives, not anymore, not for a long time. And besides, even if he wasn't a Slytherin then, he was certainly one now.
It was irrelevant.
And yet, he picked up the Hat, unravelled it, and just played with it in his hands for a while. Hermione, next to him, said nothing.
Suddenly, out of a silly impulse more than anything else, he stuffed it over his head.
Everything went dark - no light penetrated the Hat's material. And nothing happened. He felt ridiculous, trying the Hat on after all these years. What did he expect would happen? The Hat would shout, as he'd seen it done for six years at Hogwarts, 'Slytherin'? Maybe the Hat was only active on the first of September, he thought and made to remove the Hat.
"Ah," he heard a small voice - inside his head. His hands froze in place. "Sirius Black. You're forty years late, I should imagine," said the hat.
"Better late than never, don't they say?" Sirius asked the Hat silently.
"That would depend," the Hat answered, and it sounded like a wry smile in its voice. "Who are these 'they' you speak of?"
"Just an expression."
"Ah." The Hat was silent again.
"So? Which house am I?" Sirius thought irritably.
"Why is it so important to you, Sirius Black?" the Hat enquired.
"It's not."
"Then why did you put me on?"
"Just curious."
"Curiosity..." The Hat sounded almost sniggering.
"Well?"
"Are you sure you want an answer, Sirius Black?" The Hat audibly sighed. It seemed to think the entire practice was useless, or, perhaps, didn't feel like doing its duty so late in the year.
"Yes," Sirius felt reckless all of a sudden. "Yes. I want to know."
"Well, in that case... There's plenty of bravery - some recklessness, even, I should think. And impatience," the Hat said rather sternly. "A need to remain active, and not very good at cunning or planning - tell me, how did no one see before that you have no room in Slytherin, when you're such an obvious Gryffindor!"
Sirius removed the Hat angrily and stuffed it on the seat beside him.
"Well?" Hermione asked next to him, her eyes studying the crumpled hat.
"Guess," Sirius said darkly.
"Gryffindor," she stated, and smiled. He didn't return to smile.
He looked around, not wanting to face Hermione's smile. His eye caught the framed photograph, the photographs of the Snapes. His best friends. He looked at them for a moment. His two best friends, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Did it matter? It all happened so many years ago, what difference did it make now?
Because, a small voice said in his head, you're living the wrong life. If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, you would have been in Gryffindor, and everything else would have changed.
But that life wasn't any better. Ron and Hermione's memories of a cursed life, where everyone he had ever loved was dead, where even defeating Voldemort didn't make anything better - even Ron and Hermione themselves thought that. It wasn't just their earlier argument. He could see that, the tiredness in their eyes, the despair in their manner. Oh, they jumped on the opportunity to collect Horcruxes and to help the rest of them, jumped on the opportunity to do something to rescue their friend, but there was no happiness in them, only determination, and even their determination seemed to flicker. And as for Harry Potter, that son that should never have been of Lily's, such a wreck of a man. How was that better? How was that more right?
It wasn't, was the answer Sirius came with. It wasn't right. It was wrong. They were living their right life, the only life there was, and there was nothing more to it.
26th December, 2010, 4:30 p.m. X removed to S':
"Minerva," Harry said softly. "Minerva."
The old Transfiguration teacher - and, in Harry's memories, headmistress of Hogwarts - was lying on a chintz sofa, in the corner of their makeshift tent. Harry thought his old professor would have been rather proud of his Transfiguration skills - had she been awake and capable of appreciating such insignificant things.
"Minerva," he tried again.
This time, the old woman groaned and opened her eyes. He smiled in relief.
They were like that, all around them. Most of them hadn't realised that the Dementors were gone. They had been locked up there in Azkaban for so long, that even the lack of Dementors did not register.
It didn't help that they could not be brought back to anything remotely close to civilisation. Harry would have loved to take the whole lot of them to St Mungo's, to be checked by Healers, and be given whatever useful potions the Healers had. But of course they couldn't do that. They couldn't even bring them back to London.
They brought them, instead, to the Forest of Dean. It was the first place that came to Harry's mind. "Just goes to show," he whispered to Ron, "how messed up this whole place is." He hadn't thought about the Forest of Dean for a long time.
They had to Transfigure everything out of the things they found in the forest, and when push came to shove, out of thin air too. Tents, heaters, beds, anything but food, which could not be Transfigured. Ron had started talking about going back to London, to the hiding place, to get wands and food and anything else they would require, but Harry shook his head. It couldn't have been a coincidence that they had been attacked by Death Eaters so soon after they had left the house. The Death Eaters knew. They couldn't go back there.
Dean and Luna ended up Apparating to a nearby Muggle village and stealing some groceries and Muggle medicine. Harry was unhappy with the idea of stealing from Muggles, but with so many people who needed help, he couldn't afford to complain. It was like Dean had said before he left with Luna. The discussion about moralities would have to be postponed for later.
There were plenty of things they had to postpone for later: what to do with so many people, from wands to accommodations; how to make good on his promise to use them as an army; how to defeat Malfoy; how to go back home. For now, they all had to take the back seat to the most urgent matter, which, as far as Harry was concerned, was Minerva McGonagall.
"Potter," she said in a shocked croak.
"That's right, Minerva," he smiled at her.
"But you're - you're - you're dead!"
"I wasn't very happy with that prognosis," he said, the smile on his face widening.
She gave him the kind of impatient 'tut' that sent him back straight to his Hogwarts days. "I never thought I'd see you again," she said at last.
"Well, you know how life is. Full of surprises."
"Is it really you? Have you come here to save us? Or is this just a dream?"
"The dream's over," he said. "It's going to be fine." Another impossible promise, of course, and he knew it, but if it would help Minerva McGonagall get better, he thought, it didn't matter. He'd make it possible. "Do you need anything? Water, tea... Ron's making one hell of a chicken from the smell."
"Just water," she said. He went to fetch her a glass of water.
She wasn't the only one who recognised him. Tom from the Leaky Cauldron gave him a strange look, and Harry was sure he realised who he was; Mundungus Fletcher almost dropped his Chicken-à-la-Ron in surprise when he saw Harry; and Ab Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes followed Harry wherever he went.
But most of the people around them had withdrawn into themselves as soon as they were left alone. They didn't look around, they didn't move around. They didn't say anything or do anything if they weren't explicitly addressed by someone else. They just... sat there. The truth was they weren't an army, Harry thought grimly. 'Refugees' was more like it.
Someone tapped on his shoulder - Ron, carrying a plate with chicken and two forks. "Figured you'd want some before we're all out," he said.
Harry didn't even bother to confirm Ron's words - he just sat down on the spot and wolfed down the food.
"Not quite the army I'd take to storm the Ministry," Ron said after all the chicken was gone.
"There's some great wizards and witches here," Harry answered.
"Yeah. And most of them have spent years in Azkaban. The old Azkaban."
Harry didn't bother answering. Ron was right, of course.
"I've been thinking about something else," Ron started again after a moment.
"Oh?"
"So many people here without wands... we're sitting ducks. If anyone finds us we won't be able to Apparate everyone again."
"Yeah. We need to get everyone wands."
"And how are we supposed to do that?"
"Well, you know what they say," Harry said with a big smile. "Only one place to get wands."
"Ollivander's," they said together and laughed.
"Does he still own the shop, do you think?"
"We could ask," Ron said, then called, "Oi! Dean!"
Dean, who was sitting in another corner and talking to Luna, walked over. "What's up, guys?"
"Is Ollivander still in business?" Ron asked in a casual voice.
"Yeah, I think so," Dean answered. "Last time I was in Diagon Alley he was still there."
"Excellent."
Harry and Ron decided to leave on their own. They couldn't take too big a group, of course - their aim was, as Ron pointed out, not to draw too much attention, especially as Malfoy's forces were bound to be on alert.
"And I bet some of them are competent, even if they are working for Malfoy," Harry said. No one laughed but Ron.
It wasn't even evening yet when they left, but the sun had already set. "I wish it was summer," Ron muttered. "I hate how dark it gets round Christmas."
"Don't worry, we'll be in London soon," Harry reassured him.
Of course, he had forgotten to take into account the fact that they couldn't Apparate right into Diagon Alley, or into London at all, for that matter. It was lucky that Padma had reminded them before they left. "Or else, they'd know we're here," she said, and Harry and Ron looked at each other in alarm. How close they had come to give their location away - only because of Apparition!
They Apparated into a small village outside London. "What are we going to do now?" Ron asked, and Harry pulled out his wand - and Transfigured a couple of papers in his pocket into Muggle money. "Take the bus," he said.
Ron looked at him in horror.
"Calm down, it's the Christmas holidays. There won't be a lot of traffic."
For some reason, Ron didn't seem at all reassured.
The journey went by in relative peace - if Harry ignored Ron's incessant complaints about how slow Muggle transportation was, how inefficient, how smelly. Harry simply filtered out the complaints after a while.
When they were already well inside London, and on their way to the centre of the city, Ron started talking about other things. "What do we do once everyone gets a wand, though?" he asked.
"How d'you mean?" Harry asked absently.
"They have nowhere to go. Think about it - they can't go anywhere, probably not even their families. Those of them who have families left."
"Well, if they want to fight with us, why not?"
"What about those who wouldn't want to fight, though? After so much time in Azkaban..." he shuddered. "Some of them will probably just want some peace and quiet."
"We can worry about this later."
"Can we? Look, Harry - we don't, I mean, this place, it's... it's impossible. And you've seen them - they're not Sirius, they're not the Death Eaters... Hell, Harry, look at Luna. Look at Dean. We can't assume we can just go on with whatever it is that's going on here and things will get better all on their own."
Harry didn't answer. He was saved from further discussing the topic - and admitting that he had no clue what to do - when the bus finally stopped. Harry grabbed his chance and got up. "Come on," he told Ron. "That's our stop."
This excursion into London proved much simpler then their last one - at least, Harry thought, in this direction. What would happen after they visited Ollivander's was a different story entirely, but that was one more thing they could worry about later. The streets were full of people - shoppers, trying not to miss on any Boxing Day deals; tourists, who for some reason thought London in the snow was a good idea; and, he suspected, wizards and witches, somewhere in the crowds.
They didn't have time to wonder about hidden wizards and witches. Soon they were standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron, at the only entrance to Diagon Alley.
"I'm getting a bad feeling about this..." Ron said.
Harry, who secretly agreed, just pointed out they didn't have much choice.
"I know we don't have a choice. Still doesn't mean we're not being completely thick," Ron pointed out.
Harry laughed - a short, nervous laughter, that perfectly reflected the nervousness he felt inside - and walked through the door.
His heart thumped loudly in his ears. His palms started sweating. He hadn't felt like that for years, he realised. Not since they had to break into the Ministry, not since they had to break into Gringotts - not since that year when they were on the run and risked their lives every time they encountered other wizards. He thought he had left it all behind, but here he was now - knowing that simply being next to other wizards was a ridiculously stupid thing to do.
Still, he had now what he didn't have a dozen years ago - experience. Look nonchalant, he knew. Look as if you belonged there. Don't give them a chance at even a moment's hesitation. He didn't even look at the wizard behind the bar as he walked through the pub, straight to the alley that led into Diagon Alley.
Behind him, he could hear Ron breathing hard.
"We did it," he whispered. "No one's tried to stop us. S'okay."
"Yeah..."
Once inside Diagon Alley, though, everything was different. Harry couldn't help but notice that the Muggles' Boxing Day sales did not extend to the wizarding world. The Diagon Alley he remembered was full of life, shoppers - and yes, sales, as wizards found themselves shopping quite as much as Muggles on Boxing Day. But here, the wizard-only high street was almost empty. Most of the shops were already dark and closed, their owners finding no reason to keep them open as evening fell. The few shops that were open were almost completely empty, full of bored shopkeepers who were looking outside their windows, in the hope that customers would come along.
The empty street made both of them feel exposed, and they started walking faster and faster. The last thing they needed was that someone would recognise them and alert the Ministry. It didn't take them long to reach Ollivander's, which was almost at the centre of the street.
The shop was already closed. Harry looked around nervously, trying to locate any curious eyes.
"No one's looking," Ron whispered. He had been scanning the street around them as well.
"Alohomora," Harry whispered. The door to the dark shop opened without a sound. "Come on."
At first, the shop looked just like Harry remembered it. It was almost bare, except for the counter, and behind it rows and rows of wands, neatly stacked in boxes. But as he looked closer, Harry could see the differences here, too - the paint on the counter was peeling, and parts of the wood seemed in danger of falling off. The boxes, so neatly stacked in his memory, seemed to be organised in a completely random fashion. And there was dust everywhere. As he walked near one of the shelves, he couldn't help but sneeze.
"Harry!" Ron admonished him in a whisper.
"Sorry," he whispered back. "So, how are we going to do it? Just pick up random wands?"
"I don't think we can bring people in to test them, do you?" Ron answered.
"Yeah, I guess not..."
He took some of the more dust-covered boxes, stopping another sneeze, and started shoving them into his bag. He managed to take perhaps twenty boxes, when a noise caught his attention. Someone was walking down the steps.
"Damn," he whispered. "Ron!"
Ron, who was picking his own boxes at the other side of the room, didn't hear him, nor did he hear the footsteps. Too late - the light was turned on.
Harry hid behind the counter, hoping beyond hope that Ron had heard Ollivander coming down before it was too late - and hoping even more desperately that he had the chance to hide himself somewhere.
No such luck - almost immediately he heard Ollivander's voice. "Mr Weasley," the old man sounded shocked. "But - what are - ?"
"We, er, needed some wands," Ron said.
"I don't understand," Mr Ollivander said.
Ah, well, thought Harry with a sigh. It was too good to last, anyway. "We couldn't think of a better place to get our wands from, Mr Ollivander," he said as he jumped from behind the counter.
Ollivander stared at him in shock. "But you're dead," he said eventually.
"Im that case, I can't possibly be here, and so our presence is of no concern to you," he said. With a jerk of the head, he gave Ron a signal - go to the door. They couldn't afford Ollivander leaving the shop, not until they were far away.
"But this is impossible," Ollivander insisted again.
"Of course it is," Harry said reassuringly. If he knew the man at all - any moment now... Ollivander turned on the spot and fled towards the door. Harry was ready. "Stupify!" he cursed the old man, who fell to the floor unconscious. "I hoped I wouldn't have to do that."
"He'll be alright," Ron said. "Come on, let's finish this and get out of here." They finished stacking wands into their backpacks and walked out of the shop.
The first curse came as soon as they opened the door. A green jet of light splattered on the wall, where Harry's head had been a split-second before. Only the reflexes of an Auror had saved him. He retaliated instinctively, without even thinking about it - but without seeing his opponent, he didn't have much hope of hitting his target.
"How did they know?" Harry whispered once they were back in the safety of the shop - with the door closed. But not for long, he knew. There was nothing stopping them - whoever they were - from walking to the door and opening it, moving the fight into the shop and boxing the two of them further in.
"Maybe they saw the light," Ron suggested.
"Maybe Ollivander contacted them before he came down."
"Harry, does it matter? We need a way out of here!" Ron's urgent whispered returned Harry's mind to reality - if he could call this terrible place that. How it happened didn't matter, or at least, it didn't matter right now. What mattered right now was getting out of this mess. "Maybe there's a back door or something..."
"They could just as well come from there, too," Ron pointed out, but after a quick discussion, they failed to come up with any alternatives, and the two of them crawled under the windows and adjacent to the wall, until they got to the base of the door, and settled on the floor besides it.
It was a large and thick wooden door, with a small window set at the high end. Harry needed to study it only for a moment to realise just how much trouble they were in. If there was anyone outside, they'd see the door open. They would be exposed long before the gap was wide enough for him to get a good look at the back alley.
"Think we should open it?" Ron asked, sounding reluctant - he must have reached the exact same conclusion.
"Think we could see through the window?" Harry asked.
Ron shook his head. "Not with the rest of the shop's windows around us," he said. "They'll see us the second we even try to stand up.
Harry swore. "There has to be something!" he said. "Anything."
"Maybe if we could - " Ron never finished his sentence. From the front room, they could hear the door blasted open. They looked at each other for a second, then jumped up at the same time and, back to back, started sending spells in each direction.
"Stupify!" Harry shouted, not aiming at any one wizard in particular. Behind him, he heard Ron shouting "Impedimenta!". One wizard was down. Another thump on the ground told him Ron got one, too. Another wizard fell, and Harry managed to get to the back door and open it.
No curses greeted him, no Death Eaters blocked his way. This direction, it seemed, was safe - for now. "Ron!" he shouted, and shot through the door and into the freezing back alley. Ron came behind him, and they started running out of the alley.
It didn't take ten seconds before they heard someone shouting, "They're there!" That shout didn't come from inside the house: it appeared that some of the Death Eaters had remained outside, to alert the others if Harry and Ron got away. They could hear the Death Eaters chasing after them, sending curses at them.
"This way," Ron said all of a sudden, and they changed direction abruptly. It turned out to be one of the small throughways to Knockturn Alley - not the place Harry would usually choose to hide from Death Eaters, but it was full of small twists and turns, big rubbish bins and other objects they could hide behind. Soon, Harry and Ron were crouching behind a particularly large bin, while the Death Eaters rushed by. They could hear their footsteps, see their shoes from the other side of the bin. Harry heard one of them shout to the others, "Where did they go?". In his mind, he imagined it was Dolohov's voice. He counted the running shoes. One pair, two pairs, four pairs... and then there was nothing.
"We can't go out of here," he whispered to Ron. "That wasn't even half of them." He didn't need to finish that sentence. Ron knew what it meant. The rest were standing at the mouth of the passageway, waiting to see if they came out on the other end.
"What are we going to do?"
Harry didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. Truth be told, he had no idea, no clue how they could get out of that one. He started rummaging his pockets, looking for something - anything - to help them out, when his hand closed on a small, smooth object - a stone. The pebble he had taken from Azkaban.
"That's it!" he whispered. If he activated it - they could Apparate out of Diagon Alley, out of London, get back to the rest. He just had to figured out - how to -
"Here they are!" someone shouted. Their time was up. He pressed his wand to the stone, muttered an incantation, grabbed Ron, and hoped for the best.
When he next opened his eyes, they were in the Forest of Dean. Around them, everything was quiet. The snow piled on, undisturbed. The darkness was complete. And there were no voices everywhere.
"What happened?" Ron groaned.
"We made it. Come on, we need to find the rest."
26th December, 2010, 10:43 p.m. X' removed to S'':
"I can't believe we're back here," Ron said as he surveyed the room.
It was the Gryffindor dormitories, and they looked exactly like Ron remembered them to be. The four-poster beds, arranged in the room - by the count of it, there were six students in the current class of Gryffindors seventh-years.
"Weren't there less beds?" Harry asked.
"Yeah - we were five. It's been a while, though," Ron said.
"Yeah."
Ron looked around again. Their first night there, they had slept on some makeshifts beds in what Ron highly suspected was a broom cupboard. His second night he had spent with his family at the hospital wing. Now, when Dumbledore had realised things would not be as simple as he had hoped them to be, they were given more reasonable accommodations - in the empty Gryffindor tower.
"Funny no one's staying for Christmas," Harry said next to him.
"We didn't always stay, either," Ron pointed out. "Fifth year we stayed with Sirius."
"Right."
"And sixth year at my parents."
"Right."
The short-lived conversation died again. Ron was now thinking of his parents, of that Christmas, all those years ago. The last Christmas they had together. Hermione had said she ended up at the Burrow: with the Christmas decorations, his mum's pies, the guests, the company... Hermione had mentioned all the reasons why they shouldn't stay here, but as Ron looked around the empty Gryffindor dormitories, all he could think was that the next Christmas, he wanted to be there, too. To spend it with his parents again.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by a new voice. "Hi," Hermione said. She walked into the room back from her shower, still drying her hair with a bright green towel.
"You made it through?" he joked.
"I know, shocking. Hey, Harry - didn't you say you wanted to use the shower?"
"Yeah..." Harry picked up another fluffy green towel, inspected it sceptically, then walked out of the room.
Hermione waited until the footsteps had died down completely before she opened her mouth again. "I spoke with Dumbledore. He said, since Voldemort has no idea that we're here and what we're doing, we may actually have some time. I agree with him."
"We don't have time," Ron pointed out. "Neville."
"Yeah, I know. That's not exactly what I meant... We can't let the search for the locket end up the way it did the last time."
"Did you talk to Regulus?"
"Yeah. He never heard anything about Horcruxes, or anything that could make Voldemort immortal. The locket should be there."
"Okay, then how..."
She shook her head. "Dumbledore said he'll go there first thing tomorrow, to see what he can make of the potion. Don't worry - he's got no intention of drinking it."
"I don't like this, Hermione. I should go with him."
"We should both - "
He shook his head. "No. Harry." He didn't have to say any more than that - she understood. They couldn't take Harry with them to the cave, and not just because of the danger. Ron still wasn't sure exactly how much of those last few years Harry remembered. He knew he didn't remember all of it; he knew that every once in a while, Harry came up with a comment or a joke about some small, unimportant event that Ron himself had forgotten years and years ago. Hermione said once that she thought he did remember everything - it wasn't his memory that was the problem, she said, it was how he dealt with it. Ron wasn't quite sure it mattered.
The one thing Ron was sure of, however, was that even if Harry didn't remember the cave now, he would remember it if he ever set foot in it again. They couldn't let him go through it, not again, even if it were only in his memories. As far as Ron was concerned, Harry should not be told that Dumbledore was going to the cave at all, even if he was only going there to check things out. If both Ron and Hermione disappeared, however, he was bound to notice. No - only one of them could go.
But Ron still had something on his mind. "What happens if Dumbledore can't figure it out?" he asked. "What if there is no antidote?"
She pursed her lips. "That won't be our problem," she said.
"What - Hermione, you can't possibly suggest - "
"We're doing this because it's the only way to get Neville out."
"No, we're also doing it because this is Voldemort!"
"But once we've got Neville, we can go back home."
She said it softly, almost apologetically. He didn't answer. Next, he felt her hand on his shoulder. "We don't belong here, Ron," she whispered.
He turned away from her, and instead looked through the window at the snow outside. "Why not?" he asked finally.
She didn't answer.
"It's home, Hermione. It's much more home than - whatever it is we remember. Our family's here."
"Yours is," she whispered.
Only now did he turn to her. She had tears in her eyes. He made to wipe them away, but she turned her head away. "Your parents are also here, Hermione," he said.
She shook her head. "Their daughter died nineteen years ago, Ron. They're not my parents."
He knew what he should have said next. He should have told her what he really thought - even if they did somehow defeat Malfoy, even if they did somehow earn their freedom, at last, after long twelve years, even if she did find her way to Australia - and even if, most unlikely of all, she managed to find her parents there after all that time... they wouldn't know her, either. Their daughter was also dead. But he couldn't say that. He knew that somewhere, deep down, she knew it all too well. How unlikely it was that she could ever reunite with her parents, as if nothing had happened. But he couldn't see the expression on her face if he forced those words upon her.
Instead, he just said gently, "You could get to know them," he said. "And they could get to know you."
Once again, she didn't answer. He wanted to tell her it will be alright, that they would find a solution, in the end - but at that moment, Harry walked into the room. Quickly, she wiped away her tears, and he pretended to do something else entirely. Harry gave them a strange look for a moment, then went to his chosen bed and put the towel up to dry.
He didn't leave it be, though. Instead, he kept on staring at it.
"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked casually.
"Trying to remember the spell to dry this thing up," he said.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Hermione gave him the spell, despite Ron's feeling that nothing good could come out of it.
He proved to be right, of course. Harry tried the spell, his wand touching the towel - and the towel started smouldering.
"Whoops!" Hermione jumped off the bed, and touched the towel with her own wand - the thin smoke disappeared and the towel dried itself up.
"Forget about it," Ron told him. "Just a stupid spell."
Harry threw the wand on the bedstand in frustration. There was no point in telling him that it would get better. By now, more than two years after they had killed Voldemort, after they had found Harry again, they already knew. It wasn't going to get better. Not unless something fundamental in their lives would change.
"Hey," Hermione said all of a sudden, "you'll never guess who I just ran into."
"Who?" Ron asked, glad for the chance to change the topic of the conversation.
"Filch!"
"Does he still have that cat of his?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, Mrs Norris, she was following him around! He started questioning me who I was and why I was out of bed... I had to point out to him I'm way too old to be a student."
"Bet he didn't like that..."
Hermione laughed. "No, he looked so unhappy. Just like that time, d'you remember? When..."
27th December, 2010, 02:45 a.m. X removed to S':
Harry sat up with a jolt in the hammock that was assigned to him as a bed. Next to him, Ron was already sitting up, looking at him suspiciously. The rest of the tent seemed undisturbed.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah," Harry answered in a whisper. "Go back to sleep."
Ron didn't lie back in his own hammock, Harry knew. He was sure his friend's eyes were set on him as he got up and walked around the dark tent.
Everywhere he went, there were hammocks - and at times, a bunk bed. People were sleeping, snoring - but some of them, Harry noticed, were awake, too. All of them were clutching their newly acquired wands. They had gone so long without wands, that Harry imagined they didn't really believe they actually had them back.
Harry left the tent. Outside, a fire was burning. Must have been Dean's idea, he thought, as he noticed the man sitting in front of it, clutching a mug in his hand.
"Hey," he said and sat down next to him.
"Hey."
They stared at the fire for a while in silence.
"What's in the mug?" Harry asked in the end.
"What's left of the hot cocoa from earlier," he said, then amended, "well, and a bit of whiskey."
Harry chuckled softly. "Just what you need to get sleepy," he said. Dean didn't laugh with him.
"We need to take over the Ministry," Dean said at last. Harry wondered, for a moment, whether he said such a thing due to the influence of alcohol.
"We will. I think we could take some people and try to get there tomorrow. Aberforth, Mundugus... Minerva, if she's feeling up to it. A couple more. See what we can make of Malfoy's defences."
"I think we should take everyone who wants to go," Dean said. "They'd want to fight, just like we do."
"Some of these people haven't held a wand in over a decade," Harry reminded him gently.
"Then we'll remind them what to do. We need the numbers. That's how we're going to defeat the Ministry. Numbers. Numbers and your strategy."
Harry chuckled again. "You didn't sound so reassured yesterday," he said, "when we were talking about going into Azkaban."
"Yeah, but since then, we broke into Azkaban, and you guys managed to go into Diagon Alley and back - with wands." Now Dean smiled, the first smile Harry had seen on his face since he had found himself in this strange, strange place. "Maybe things are starting to work in our favour now."
Harry pulled out the stone out of his pocket - the stone from Azkaban, the one which had saved their lives earlier that day. He started playing with it - tossing it up and down, catching it with his hand, then tossing it again. "Maybe," he said.
In the fire before them, the flames danced and danced.