A/N Sorry sorry sorry for the delay. I've been working on a big project at work and have just been brain dead. Please forgive me and I'll give you two new chapters this week to make up for it, lol.
I know that some of my readers called foul on the little lesson that Sirius taught Harry in the last chapter. I have a few very specific reasons for writing it the way that I did.
Firstly, I agree that Harry has strong defense abilities, but he is still just beginning his fourth year here and, in canon, he was having trouble with spells. For example, it was only through Hermione's tutoring that he managed to achieve success with the summoning spell to get through the first task. So, while he does have natural talent, he is still very inexperienced at this point. Certainly enough to pose no threat to a fully trained death eater, which is the point that Sirius was trying to get across.
Secondly, it may have seemed like dirty pool with the way that Sirius went about getting the point across but, with Sirius' extreme hatred for Slytherin-like traits, I can see him being fairly miffed with the slippery way Harry went about circumventing his promise. IMO, Sirius would take severe umbrage with his Gryffindor godson acting in a manner more befitting a member of the Black family and less like a Potter. Because Sirius so strongly rebelled against his heritage and would have keenly felt the need to prove himself more Gryffindor than Slytherin because of his ancestry, he would naturally want to curb any tendency of Harry's that might have reminded him of his family. It was my intention to get Harry riled up by being on the receiving end of the same stunt that he himself pulled so that now he has first hand appreciation of honor and trust. Not that Harry is a dishonorable boy, but he did almost get sorted into Slytherin because of the horcrux influence, so it's not inconceivable that he could gravitate towards some of the less honorable traits.
I know that my Harry has strayed away from canon in a few ways, but he does have a father now and the chance to be less mature than he was forced into being in the books. It would naturally have an effect on his personality.
Anyway, that is my little rant for the week. Big thanks, as always, to all of my readers and reviewers. I'm such a beast by not responding individually, but please know that each review is read, re-read and cherished.
*************
For an office, the room was lavishly decorated.
The impressively thick pastel blue carpet was so deep that nary a footstep could ever be heard crossing it. From the fourteen floor to ceiling windows, that surrounded the office on three sides, hung heavy velvet drapes in a rich brocade of blue and gold tied back with long lengths of gold rope. The elegant desk that was the centerpiece of the room, like all the rest of the carefully placed furniture, had a distinctly Louis XIV feel to it, the intricately carved legs edged with the same gold filigree that adorned the rest of the detail work. The crystal chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling sparkled from the daily cleaning it was given, long slender candlesticks ablaze, absent any sign of melting wax.
It would have been a remarkable sight for any lover of luxury to take in. Even without the fact that all the features were quite a bit larger than they normally should be.
Behind the desk sat an impressive looking woman, her olive skinned face handsome, her rich ebony hair attractively swept into a chignon. She wore exquisitely cut black satin robes and a chunky necklace of silver and opals surrounding the base of her meaty neck. In her large hands, adorned with multiple rings, she tenderly held a scroll of parchment. Practically purring in contentment, she perused the contents once more before rolling it back up, her eyes closed, her mind spinning with the possibilities.
The Tri-Wizard Tournament.
Mon Dieu, how long she had waited for the chance to prove her school and, by extension, herself, as the best that the wizarding world had to offer in magical education.
Although she had worked tirelessly over the past ten years, her students excelling in every conceivable fashion, her school the recipient of a multitude of awards and accolades, the subtle detection of stares and whispers that followed her everywhere proved to her that she was still less than fully ingrained into the upper echelons of wizarding society.
Of course, Grandpere's money and status had afforded her a grudging acceptance by the world in which she had been born. He had been wonderfully loving and supportive of her always. Grandmere had been as well. To the best of her abilities anyway.
Growing up, the little girl had often caught her grandmother gazing wistfully at the portraits of the beautiful young woman that had been her mother, her eyes swimming in tears. After one of these little episodes, Grandmere could barely stand to look at the child and the little girl quickly learned to keep out of sight until her grandmother sought her out herself.
They almost never spoke of Maman. All she knew of her mother was that she had been beautiful and talented. That, and the fact that she had died in childbirth. Not surprising when you knew that Olympe had been the size of a normal five year old at birth.
No one ever spoke of Olympe's father. Grandpere and Grandmere would get identical frozen looks of horror whenever she broached the subject. Her questions were brushed away with all the ferocity of a curse and eventually, the little girl learned to never speak of either of her parents.
But, even at an early age, Olympe knew who she was and, more importantly, what her father would have been. She was an extremely bright little thing, home-schooled as usual, but with an almost unquenchable thirst for reading and knowledge. Amid endless hours of perusal in Grandpere's enormous library, she came across reference after reference on the topic of giants and she knew, as surely as she knew that her fashionable Mary Janes had needed to be custom made in unprecedented sizes, that her father had been at least part giant.
Grandmere wouldn't hear of it. Whenever Olympe had mentioned the possibility of her unusual and undesirable heritage, the older woman's eyes grew hard for a brief second before she could calm herself and assure her granddaughter that she was merely "big boned". No matter how hard Olympe tried to get her grandmother to admit otherwise, the elegant witch firmly in denial insisted upon their little ruse. After Olympe was finally sent to school herself, and was subsequently exposed to the cruel taunts and rumors, she found comfort in her grandmother's lie and eventually, after many years of professing it to be true, she started to believe it herself.
It was after her full acceptance of the lie that she started to come out of her shadow, growing strong and confident. With her new found self image, her extraordinary grades and talents, plus the helpful piles of gold in grandpere's vault, she somehow managed to secure the place of headmistress of Beauxbatons and had tirelessly worked towards proving her worth in the world.
Having one of her students win the long abandoned Tri-Wizard Tournament would go a long way in securing her position in the annals of magical history. Knowing that she could nurture such talent and skill under her palace's roof would finally prove to all of her detractors that Olympe Maxime was not a closeted half-giantess, but a force to be reckoned with. There would be no measures that she was not willing to employ to ensure her victory.
Opening her eyes back up, a gleam of excitement in the black pools, she unfurled the scroll once again, daintily plucked a beautifully tooled quill from the stand on her desk and added her carefully looped signature to the parchment. As it flamed blue and vanished, she clapped her hands in delight, happier than she had been in years.
*************
One should never underestimate the bracing value of a shot of frozen peppery vodka.
As he sat in repose on a high backed chair covered in furs, the flicker of a roaring fire reflected in the deep blue of his eyes. Holding the scroll of parchment in one hand, he slammed down the shot glass held by the other to nervously stroke the curling end of his goatee.
A year ago, he would have happily shed the blood of some of his own overwhelmingly dense students for the chance at the Tri-Wizard cup. A year ago, he was still trying to overcome his unfortunate past as a known death eater and a rat. A year ago, he had not yet felt the beginning itch of the betraying mark on his arm.
This was not a year ago.
In recent months the faded mark that he had unsuccessfully attempted to painfully carve off had started to darken again. That could only mean one thing, and it didn't promise anything good. With the growing fear over the impossible return of the dark lord that had branded him, came the realization that he would once again have to do something, anything, to keep himself alive and in one piece.
He had narrowly escaped the first time. Of course that had just been the dupes at the Ministry of Magic. Although he had had a panicked moment or two when he truly thought he would spend the rest of life, natural and otherwise, in the rotting cesspool of Azkaban, he had been spared in the end.
Convinced of the demise of his dark master at the hands of the toddling cult figure Boy Who Lived, he turned to saving his own skin. Possessing acute and damaging knowledge of participants more mouthwateringly tantalizing to the Ministry than himself, he had managed to broker the darkest of all deals. Purging himself of intimate details, his index finger figuratively sprained from all the pointing it had been doing during those harrowing days, he had earned his own freedom.
Of course, he had to focus on his survival after he finished spilling his guts to the sensation crazed gossip mongers of the Wizengamot. So, suffice it to say, there may have been a dark wizard or two that was spared his black stamp of betrayal while he sang like a bird under the heavy chains of the accused chair. A careful note here, and a meaningful look there, translated into financial support payable upon his removal from Britain.
Money wasn't everything.
If Igor's only interest in backing Lord Voldemort had been money, he would have been sorely disappointed. What he truly craved as a follower of the charismatic and dangerous wizard was the same intoxicating nectar that drew most of his supporters.
Power and influence.
So, it was certainly more than galleons that claimed his silence. After a few years of carefully orchestrated withdrawal from the wizarding world, the same grateful sponsors that had been invisibly supporting him financially managed to call in enough influence to secure a position first as Deputy Headmaster and then Headmaster itself of Durmstrang. With his ascendancy to the head position, it was clearly understood that his benefactors' generosity had come to an end. He would have to make his own way from there.
He was mildly surprised that they had never questioned his desire to become headmaster of a school, of all things. Surely they would have been appreciative of his silence enough to fund his comfortable lifestyle for years to come. It certainly would have been an easier task to achieve. To these people, money was nothing more than a tool they used to smooth out the wrinkles in their lives. They certainly had enough of it.
Manipulating the school board of governors had been a little more tricky, but they came through, just as he had always known that they could. Cut off from their favors forever, he had thrown all of his considerable energy into carving out his own little niche in the corridors of Durmstrang castle.
Lord Voldemort had the right idea, Igor had decided long ago. He just had not started recruiting his followers early enough. Each day as Igor roamed the hallowed halls of his institution, he didn't see the pale, pimpled faces of the boys in residence as they respectfully bowed as he swept forth. He saw only the numbers of future supporters that he would groom in their impressionable years in his quest to become the next great dark lord.
Other schools may have students. Igor Karkaroff had soldiers.
Grunting in disgust at the annoyingly chipper parchment clenched in his fist, the same arm that held his darkening mark, he found himself caught between a rock and a hard place.
It was early, too early, to implement his plan. His little soldiers had not yet reached the zenith of their unswerving devotion to him. True, he had scored a coup when he had managed to secure that talented little moron of a seeker in the ranks of his army. Krum was worth his considerable weight in galleons. Convincing the boy to publicly claim his allegiance to Karkaroff would go a long way in swaying the hordes of swooning fans to do the same.
But the mark was darkening. He was coming back. Igor was running out of time. Unless he could strengthen his own position through victory, Voldemort and his remaining supporters would hunt him down and kill him. The methods they would choose to employ so unspeakable that he could scarce imagine them.
He thumped the shot glass against the hard wood of the table next to him and it refilled. Raising it to his lips, he knocked back the frosty liquid and revelled in the fire burning its way down his throat. He shuddered slightly from the brief influx of alcohol and it cleared his head.
Reaching for his wand, he spelled his signature on the parchment, the instantaneous blue flames startling him before it vanished.
The tournament was his only hope now. With any luck, Viktor's success would cement Igor's own standing and support. His only chance to survive the return of the dark lord would be to beat him at his own game.
*********
In the high turreted room that served as his office, Albus Dumbledore regarded the troublesome scroll that demanded his attention. Slipping off his half moon spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly, he couldn't help but feel the reserves of his patience emptying dangerously.
Of all the times for this to have to take place!
A few months ago, when the idea had been proposed, he had not thought it necessarily a bad thing. Promoting international magical cooperation could only help the situation should they find themselves immersed in another period of darkness.
One can never have too many allies, after all.
But, that had been before his fortuitous encounter with Horace, under the influence of several large glasses of the excellent matured oak mead that Albus had thoughtfully supplied, that had directly led to the start of the mission that the real Alastor Moody currently found himself consumed by.
Originally, it had been Albus' intention to spearhead the mission himself. His extensive personal knowledge of Tom, and insight into the twisted mind, gave him a slightly sharper understanding of what and where they might be searching. However, with his promised support of the tournament, bringing with it all the dangers and intrigues of games past, he felt that he had no choice but maintain his presence at the school throughout.
He could only hope that Alastor was truly up to the task.
His heart still thudded with its accusatory pain of betrayal. It had taken all of his considerable persuasion and guilt to convince Sirius to remain at Hogwarts with Harry. Albus had seen the look of grim determination in the man's eyes and knew, without a doubt, that the concerned godfather was not bluffing with his threat to remove the boy from the school. Eventually, Albus had shared all of his grim secrets, including Alastor's mission in minute detail. Eventually, Sirius had been sufficiently convinced that the deception was necessary. He would agree to almost anything that would increase his godson's chances of surviving Voldemort.
It wasn't as if he had had a choice in revealing the details. In the absence of a true explanation, Sirius would have grabbed his godson and vanished forever. Albus never believed, for one second, that the former auror, for all his claims to the contrary, would return to Celestial Court.
Sirius would run. Far and fast, until he was sure that no one would ever find them. He had the talent and the means to do such a thing but, more importantly, he had the passionate desire. Albus had known that if he didn't play his cards right, he would never see Harry Potter again.
Shifting slightly in his ornately carved chair, he suppressed a small groan at the thought. The idea of Harry being taken away from the wizarding world was one that he had only allowed himself to entertain in the darkest hours of night. He would love nothing more than to think that the poor boy that he was so fond of could grow to manhood, protected, loved and cherished. Far removed from the darkness and evil that threatened him every waking moment.
It was a nice dream. But still, just a dream.
All Albus could do was try his best to keep him safe.
Of course, his methods were not always appreciated. It had been his suggestion that Mundungus cast the Imperious curse on the boy. Albus had wanted to know just how strong Harry was growing, and the ordinary course of classwork served just as well as any other test. The news that Harry had been able to throw the curse off had been most welcome, even as the idea of using an Unforgivable on a child rankled him to the very core.
With the Gryffindor students sharing their DADA class with the Slytherins, Albus had made a calculating guess that the death eaters would know of Harry's ability to foil any plan to use him in such a manner in the time it took for one surreptitious floo call.
Sirius had made it quite plain that he intended to train Harry to fight. As much as the idea swirled violently in the pit of his stomach, the old wizard had silently agreed. In his desire to protect the boy, he had not had the strength to implement a similar course of study.
Thank Merlin that Sirius had taken the lead in such an endeavor. Albus had enough guilt inside of him to choke the life out of him.
With a gentle wave of his hand, his signature appeared on the scroll. He idly admired the blue flames, the abrupt vanishing of the parchment driving home his need to keep all of his children safe, especially one of them.
**************
Triwizard Tournament
The Delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at
6 o'clock on Friday the 30th of October
Lessons will end half an hour early.
Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories
and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the
Welcoming Feast
**********
The announcement that had appeared throughout the school had made quite excitable conversation during dinner. Gathered together for their ritual Friday night in Sirius' residence, the trio and the former Marauders had spent the majority of the meal talking about the upcoming tournament.
"It's going to be absolutely wicked," Ron had gushed enthusiastically as he reached for his third helping of treacle tart.
Harry just rolled his eyes, tired already of all the excitement over something that he wasn't able to participate in. He still had not gotten over his resentment of this tournament superseding his beloved Quidditch. In a fit of pique, he leaped forward and grabbed the last slice of tart, jabbing Ron in the hand with his fork to prevent the redhead from acquiring it.
"Git!"
"Harry!"
Harry looked up and saw the disapproving glare of his godfather's gray eyes.
"No more sugar for you, young man. You've already had three wedges," Sirius scolded. "Give it to Ron."
Harry scowled, but he obeyed. Grinning triumphantly, Ron held out his plate for Harry to slide the coveted brown sticky triangle onto. From her place at the table, Hermione didn't even bother to raise her eyes from the parchment she was reading. She just shook her head and snickered quietly. It was no surprise that she maintained her slender figure. Years of sharing meals with the two human stomachs had almost ensured that there was barely a crumb left after meals.
Sauntering over to the table, Sirius had somehow produced a small plate of cheese chunks and fruit. Ruffling his godson's hair, he plopped the plate down in front of the cranky teenager.
Harry tried to keep his scowl in place, but his godfather's eyes were twinkling so madly that he couldn't manage it for long. He huffed briefly and then gave up, grabbing one of the chunks and nibbling on it contentedly. Sirius smirked and returned to his place on the sofa, joining Remus in another glass of wine.
"He's having a growth spurt, I think," he said to Remus, his voice blatantly radiating in the affection he felt for his godson. For the past few weeks Sirius had taken to having extra snacks on hand to satisfy Harry's positively enormous appetite.
"I'd wager that I'll be buying him longer trousers by the end of term. Either that, or I'm working him too hard training."
"Probably a bit of both, I would imagine," Remus replied, his golden eyes dancing with amusement. "How is it going?"
Sirius smiled tiredly and stretched his arms out to the side. As he moved, he heard a small popping noise as a joint snapped back into place. He grinned sheepishly at his chuckling friend, trying not to notice how wan Remus' face looked. It had not been long since the last full moon and even with Padfoot out romping with Moony, it had been a difficult night.
"Well, I think," he finally answered. "He's picking up the basics very quickly and his technique is improving. I have the soreness to prove it."
Remus nodded and leaned forward to refill both of their glasses. "I'm glad to hear it. Do you still want me to join you next week?"
Sirius took the offered glass gratefully, taking a quick swallow of the excellent vintage. "Yes, I do. It's never too early to begin training him to face multiple opponents. I think you will be impressed with how much effort he has put into improving his skills."
Both men looked over to the table, hearing the noises associated with the meal being cleared away. The teens had planned on playing Exploding Snap after their late dinner and Hermione was sponging down the table while the boys cleared the plates and glasses.
Turning back to the cozy fire, Sirius took another long swallow of his wine, his forehead wrinkled in thought. Remus knew this look. Knew that his longtime friend needed to get something off of his chest but needed time to formulate his thoughts. He leaned back into his chair, his attention on his wine glass as he twirled the stem between his fingers, and he waited.
"I told Albus about what we are doing," Sirius said after a fashion. "He agrees with me that it is a good idea."
"It is."
There was silence for a moment as Sirius turned to stare intently into the flames. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration and his silver eyes had lost their merriment.
"Then why do I want to just wrap him in cotton wool and hide him away somewhere?"
The question brought a smile to the werewolf's face, but when he turned to look at his friend, Sirius kept his gaze pointedly towards the blazing fire.
"Because you love him," he answered simply. "Because you want to keep him safe."
Sirius sighed and took another swallow. "Of course I do, but I don't want to make him soft either."
The liquid metallic glint of his gray eyes cooled as his stare became more intense, but his posture slumped in small admission of defeat. "He can't afford to be soft. We neither one of us have that luxury."
Remus held his comment as Harry had taken that particular moment to lope over to where they were sitting. Flopping down on the sofa next to his godfather, he sprawled out, dropping his feet into his godfather's lap and propping his head up against the armrest.
Sirius snickered, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he gazed down fondly at the boy. "Comfy?" he asked, sarcastically.
Harry closed his eyes in contentment, a little smirk on his face. "Yes, very, thank you much."
His sarcastic little retort made both of the men in the room chuckle with Sirius reaching down to tug at the cuff of Harry's jeans. "See what I mean, Moony? He's grown at least two inches since I bought these for him last spring."
Harry opened his eyes and rolled them, grinning. "It's about time, too. It's hard being around all of you freakishly tall people."
Sirius playfully swatted at one of Harry's bare feet and snorted. "I would not say that any of us are freakishly tall, you little blighter. Your dad was almost as tall as I am. If you keep taking your vitamins and eating better, we'll get you there yet." Sirius tried to keep the teasing light. Harry's short stature bothered him more than he would admit to out loud.
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his godfather. "That has got to be the most pathetic excuse I can think of to convince me to keep eating that nasty cereal you enjoy torturing me with."
Looking positively affronted, Sirius struggled to restrain a smile. "I don't enjoy torturing you," he protested. Harry held his stare and raised an eyebrow until finally his godfather couldn't keep a straight face. "Well, maybe a little."
Remus, sipping his wine and smiling serenely, sat back in his chair and enjoyed the easy banter between his best friend and his godson. In moments like this, you would swear that Sirius had raised Harry from infancy.
Harry yawned widely, his eyes scrunched up, causing Sirius to laugh and smiled fondly at his sleepy child. "Merlin, Harry. You're too young to be this tired. It's the shank of the evening, you know."
Scowling, Harry opened one eye and glared at his amused godfather. "The what?"
"The time to play cards, mate!" Ron called from the other side of the room, having finished discretely snogging Hermione, grateful for Harry's momentary retreat from the table. Harry groaned. He was sleepy and comfortable and in no hurry to leave the warmth of the fire. Sirius nudged Harry's leg gently and Harry winced from the contact.
Frowning, the concerned godfather went on full alert. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Harry huffed and stretched, beginning to roll off of the sofa and stand up. "I'm fine, Sirius. Just a little sore, is all," he assured his worried guardian as he got to his feet. "You gave me a real workout today and the spells haven't completely worn off yet."
Harry had unhappily found that direct hits from the practice settings on their wands still hurt if he was careless enough to be hit. The only difference from his first experience being that his whole body took shots, instead of just one particular part. In spite of the discomfort, he bore the training cheerfully. He was used to being banged around during Quidditch practice, after all.
"You shouldn't still be feeling anything," Sirius protested, ignoring his own lingering twinges and aghast that he had hurt the boy so badly. "I'm going to take you to see Poppy." Sirius rose quickly to his feet, preparing to drag Harry, if necessary, to the hospital wing.
Harry turned around to glare at his godfather. "I'm fine, Sirius. Stop fussing already!"
"Sure he is," Ron agreed, coming over to stand next to Harry. He clapped Harry on the back, earning a glare himself from his friend who had to bite back another wince that he didn't want his already panicking godfather to see.
"Harry's a Quidditch player, Professor," Ron continued, unable to drop the formal title in the off hours like Hermione had easily adapted to doing. "He can handle anything."
Harry smiled and affectionately elbowed his mate in the ribs for the compliment which seemed to have been successful in calming Sirius down. Too bad that Ron never really knew when to quit while he was ahead.
"I bet he'd win the TriWizard too, if he could enter," Ron bragged. "He's got way more experience than that git Diggory." Unlike Harry, Ron had never forgiven poor Cedric for having the audacity to score against Gryffindor the day the Dementors attacked Harry.
Sirius' eyebrows shot straight up and his face lost all signs of humor. "He would do nothing of the kind," he swore vehemently. "Even if he was old enough to enter, I would never allow him to compete in it. Do you know how many students have been killed?"
Affronted now, Harry stiffened his posture, crossing his arms and scowling at his godfather. "If I was of age, you couldn't really stop me, Sirius," he reminded the overprotective man who was frowning at him menacingly.
Sirius answered by mimicking the pose, with a look on his face that screamed You want to bet on that?
Knowing better than to pick that particular fight, Harry smirked and pulled Ron back towards the table where Hermione had been patiently sitting with the cards, observing the entertaining chatter from a safe distance.
Sirius couldn't help smiling as he sat back down on the sofa and picked up his neglected wine glass. He noticed Remus smirking at him as well as his friend calmly sipped the blood red liquid. "What are you laughing about, old man?" he snarked good naturedly.
"I'm laughing because if you or James had the chance to enter that tournament, you would have done anything to be one of the chosen, regardless of age. Hypocrisy does not become you, Padfoot."
Remus was only taking the mickey, but Sirius grew very quiet. "I know. You're right. Looking back on the things we did, I wonder how we made it to graduation. It didn't so much matter for me. I hated my parents. But I don't know how Charlus and Dorea survived all the craziness that James put them through. The thought of Harry doing some of those things..."
Sirius couldn't finish his thougts out loud and Remus saw his friend grip his glass tighter, his knuckles turning white from the exertion. He leaned over and gently pulled the glass from Sirius' iron grip before it shattered in his hand.
"That's what it is to be a father, Sirius. And, with Harry, it's so much more difficult because of all he has already suffered. It's not easy to be a single parent under the best of circumstances, and yours are more unusual than most."
Sirius smiled softly at his old friend. Remus spoke from the experience in his own household.
It had been no secret amongst the Marauders that Remus' father carried the guilt of his son's lycanthropy to his early grave. The distraught father had never forgiven himself for being the reason that his only child was cursed to dark creature status because of a perceived insult that he had given to that monster Fenrir Greyback. The anxiety of watching his child endure the excruciating transformations literally broke his heart, leaving his wife a young widow.
"I try my best," Sirius said quietly. "There are times when I almost feel like I can make up for some of James' absence, but, more than I care to admit, there are also times when I know that Harry needs Lily."
"You could always marry and give him a mother, you know," Remus reminded him gently.
Sirius shook his head. "No. I told you before, Moony. Harry needs all of my attention. I can't take the risk of my lovelife adversely affecting him. I didn't always have the best taste in women, as I am sure you will happily remind me."
Remus would have said more, but Sirius put his hand up to stop him. He didn't like the turn the conversation was taking. Some might think he was unnecessarily martryring himself to raise Harry alone, but he was more than content with his decision and he honestly didn't feel the need for more companionship than this godson and best friend. Maybe someday, when Harry was grown with a family of his own. Giving Remus wink, he swiftly changed the topic.
"He asked me to help him become an animagus. Did I tell you?"
Now Remus burst into laughter hearty enough to draw curious looks from the teens at the card table. He waved them away with an affectionate shake of his head and they returned to their game.
"Well, I suppose we both should have seen that coming," he replied in amusement. "What did you tell him?"
Sirius smirked, twirling his glass stem between his long elegant fingers. "I told him no. I said that he was too young, and that if he wanted my help, he would have to wait until he was fifteen."
Remus almost choked on the sip of wine he was taking. It was not at all the answer he had been expecting. "No? Why not?" he asked incredulously. "By Harry's age, you and James were already well on your way to achieving the transformation."
"I know that, Moony," Sirius replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "That time we had was so precious to me. It really bonded us, don't you remember?"
Both men took a moment to relive the fond memories they had at that time. Although Remus had obviously not needed to become an animagus, owing to the fact that, as a werewolf, he was physical incapable of any other kind of transformation, his diligent participation in research, once he had recovered from the enormous swell of affection he felt for his friends' support, had been vital to the success of the other three, and they had all worked tirelessly on the project together.
"I do," he agreed, after a fashion. "Those were some of the best days of my life," he admitted quietly, still awestruck, after all of these years.
Sirius afforded him a fond wink. "I'd wager that my godson and his friends will try to figure it out for themselves. I would not want to take that time away from them. I plan on keeping an eye on them, with your help, if you'll give it, just to make sure that they do not try anything too reckless. If they have not sorted it by Harry's birthday, I'll be more than happy to assist them."
Remus nodded his consent, mildly surprised at Sirius' willingness to allow Harry that sort of experience. The process was tricky and risky. A loud snap! from the table got their attention and both turned to watch the three teens laugh merrily at the smoking cards. There were worse ways to spend a Friday night than in this pleasant little atmosphere.
The two men chatted companionably for a while longer, content to enjoy the sounds of amusement coming from the table. It was only when the normal rumble turned into a full fledged roar of snaps and a yelp that they took full notice.
"Agh!"
Fully alert, Sirius practically leaped over the back of the sofa, hearing Harry cry out. Bounding over to the table, he panicked for a second, seeing his godson holding his hand over his forehead.
"What happened, Harry? Your scar?" he stammered, worried.
"Hopefully not," Harry grunted, shooting Ron a poisonous look. He removed his hand and let his godfather see the angry red burn that had appeared just above his right eyebrow. Ron winced at the sight and offered a quiet and sincere "Sorry, mate."
Immeasurabley relieved that it was just a case of enthusiastic horseplay and not another mental beating, Sirus let out a sharp whoosh of air before hovering over his godson, clucking his tongue in sympathy.
"Oh, that doesn't look so bad. I have some good burn salve in the medicine cabinet." Sirius was prepared for anything. A good marauder learned early to keep medical supplies handy at all times. Propelling Harry to his feet, he led his mildly damaged boy towards the bathroom.
Inside, he lowered the toilet lid and Harry took the hint to sit down. "I can do this myself, you know," Harry grumbled as Sirius began to fuss with the tube of salve and a swab.
"I know you can," Sirius assured the whinging teen. "Just indulge me, hmm?"
Applying the goopy gel to the swab, he brushed it against the burn as gently as he could. Harry hissed from the sting, causing his godfather to wince in sympathy.
"Yes, I know. It does have a bit of a bite at first," he cooed soothingly.
Acting purely on impulse, Sirius bent down and blew softly on the wound, cooling the area. Harry was startled by the gesture, having never had anyone do such a thing before. Sirius had not intentionally set out to do it. It was just a reflex. A long buried memory from a time when his own father had once shown unprecedented kindness to an injured son, long before he learned to despise his eldest offspring.
Irrationally thrown by affectionate ministration, Harry blinked rapidly, unsure of how to respond. Sirius, sensing his unease, leaned back and smirked at him. "Too much?" Harry snorted. "You big girl," he teased his laughing godfather as he stood to leave the bathroom.
The moment of discomfort vanished quickly, but Sirius was touched when Harry gave him a quick hug on his way out. Even if it made Harry uncomfortable sometimes, Sirius was resolved to keep his beloved child from any amount of pain that he could.
*********
The roar in his ears was deafening as he made his way up the opening between the Gryffindor and the Hufflepuff tables. It wasn't the roar of applause and cheers that had greeted the announcement of the first three. It was a roar of shock and confusion created by his own head as he struggled to process just what, in Merlin's name had just happened to him.
For Harry, Halloween was a difficult enough day as it was.
For the past few years, ever since he found out the truth of his parents' deaths, the day had become one of infinite sorrow for him as he mourned the man and woman that he didn't remember knowing, but loved keenly just the same.
Oh sure, he went about the day casually enough, trying to give the impression that he enjoyed the castle's festivities. In truth, his first year, he had been quite impressed with the decorations and the feast that was unlike one he had ever known possible. Then, of course, had been the whole ordeal with the troll and it had taken his mind off of his own wallowing long enough to make a new friend.
Since then, he had kept his melancholy to himself, and his friends were nice enough to avoid the topic. With all of the excitement this year, he hoped to further push the date aside and revel in school pride as the champion was chosen.
At the welcoming feast, Ron had barely been contained by the thought of having his Quidditch idol at the castle with them. Hermione, for her part, was more concerned with the awestruck way her very new boyfriend had swooned over a certain blond Beauxbatons student as she glided past them, taking the tureen of unwanted fish soup with her.
He had not necessarily been in the mood for another feast right on top of the heels of that one, but tonight was not just Halloween, it was the night that the Goblet of Fire would choose the lucky champions and there was a decided thrill in the air.
Then, all hell broke loose, and Harry Potter found himself firmly avowing that Halloween was always to be the most wretched of days in his life.
Slowly, very slowly, he propelled himself forward, trying to ignore the shock on the faces of his friends, the disgust on the faces of those not chosen, the cries declaring him to be a cheat stabbing him in the gut. As he reached the front table, he had to turn away from the spectacle of his enraged godfather arguing quietly, but obviously furiously, with the headmaster.
Dumbledore had simply motioned the shell shocked boy towards the door that Cedric, Fleur and Krum had disappeared into, and Harry had to force his feet to move in the right direction.
Entering the darkened chamber that he had never seen before, his mind was too dazed to fully comprehend the questioning looks and comments from the three older students already present. He could only blink rapidly as all of the school heads and a few of the professors stormed into the room after him, shouting and threatening in high pitched heated voices.
When Sirius grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him slightly, his gray eyes wild with fury, Harry could only repeat the word "no" over and over again as his godfather demanded to know if he had somehow managed to put his name in the goblet.
Seeing his godson's pale face and dazed eyes, Sirius immediately believed Harry when he swore that the unfortunate turn of events had not been his own doing. The only other reason for Harry's name to have been put in the goblet terrifying him beyond all measure. He too felt his blood run cold and he only gave passing attention to the protestations of the enormous woman and the death eater who were screaming for justice for their schools.
Sirius' mind whirred with possibilities, each one more dreadful than the one before it. He had to keep Harry safe. It was his job to keep Harry safe. It was only when he heard that pompous jackass Barty Crouch insist that Harry was obliged to compete that the godfather finally came to his senses.
Tuning out everyone else, he turned to Dumbledore, his face a placid mask of scary calm. "Albus, the answer is really quite simple," he said quietly, unnerving everyone in the room. "Harry cannot possibly be a Hogwarts Champion if he is no longer a Hogwarts student."
Turning to his stunned godson, who had not yet processed what he just had said, he spoke the words that chilled Harry to the core.
"Go back to the dorm and pack, Harry. We're going home."