A/N Just a quick note for a couple of readers about the last chapter.
I've never written punished Harry as being sore the day after. Hours after, yes, but not the next day. Plus which, Harry is in training now, and his tolerance for physical pain is probably higher.
Just a little background info for those that had questions.
Also, I do think it is realistic for Harry to forgive and forget rather easily with Sirius. They have a wonderful bond now that they have worked so hard on, plus Harry knew he had been a prat, lol. I think the level of Sirius' anger only impressed how much of one he had been.
Enjoy today's chapter, and thank you for reading and reviewing.
************HP********
It was quiet in the semi-darkness of the small bedroom. One small lamp burned on the desk near the door. The flickering light cast mischievous shadows on the stone walls and on the small sweet face of the young boy sleeping deeply in his arms.
Sirius had awoken abruptly in the middle of the night, nightmares full of the specters of long buried memories of his parents, chasing away needed rest. Now fully awake, but reluctant to leave his child, he slowly traced soft swirling circles on Harry's back as the boy slumbered, determined that Harry would always know much more affection than discipline from his hands.
Of course children needed a healthy mix of both, and true discipline could only be administered by a loving hand.
Charlus Potter had taught him that.
The first time Sirius had come to stay with the Potters he had been terrified to act up with James. Not just because punishment in the Black house had been measured in doses of severe to sinister, but because Sirius had genuinely admired and respected James' parents.
That had been enough to curb Sirius' innate talent for trouble. For a while anyway. But all things being equal, and James and Sirius being who they were, it didn't last.
The first time Charlus had sent Sirius to his room to await punishment, he found the boy cowering in a corner of the room, begging him for mercy. The elder Potter had simply sat on the bed until the twelve year old stopped trembling, and once he had, Charlus had scooped Sirius up in his arms and rocked him on his lap while the boy cried himself out.
After a long needed period of comfort, Sirius had received the paddling he had earned from the man he grew to consider as his father. But for the first time in his life, while being held on Charlus' lap as the man rocked and soothed, Sirius had felt chastised, rather than hated. Cared for, instead of unwanted.
It had been a powerful revelation.
Enough for a twelve year old boy to decide which kind of man he wanted to be, and enough for the grown man currently cuddling Charlus' grandson to know what kind of father he was.
Because Harry had called Sirius his father. Had used the word and meant it, the truth painfully clear in the bright emerald eyes. Sirius' heart had lurched quite physically at the declaration. One half of it wanting to soar straight out of his chest in joyful exuberance. The other half thudding with the painful recrimination of a desperate ache to take that title from his beloved brother in all but name.
Sirius wanted to be Harry's Dad. He wanted to hear the boy he adored call him by this name, like a drowning person wants oxygen. In his dizziest daydreams he heard it a million times.
Dad! Come watch me!
Want to go flying, Dad?
Happy Christmas, Dad.
Dad, I met a girl.
I love you, Dad.
Then the dreams would be shattered by reality, the past rushing over him like a tidal wave, and he would be left with only one mental image. That of a tiny Harry, wobbly on chubby toddler legs, taking his first halting steps and babbling "Da Da Da Da Da." James sitting on his knees a few feet away, his arms held out to receive his baby boy, an enormously proud smile on his face.
There it would end, with Sirius feeling nothing but shame over his desires. It had been too easy, he supposed, to want it that way. After all, he had considered Charlus to be his dad. Had loved him, respected him and cherished him. He grieved when Charlus had died just as much as James had. He had called the man Dad openly and freely, feeling perfectly natural about it.
There had been no guilt. No confusion nor conflicted feelings just because Sirius hadn't been born to Charlus.
Father, as Sirius and Regulus were taught to address the man that had sired them, had been a horrific specimen of a person, and for all of his hysteria for preserving the pure blood of the Black family, he had been surprisingly willing to personally spill an awfully large quantity of his eldest son's.
James had been a wonderful father, and a wonderful brother. He didn't deserve to be betrayed by having his place in his son's life diminished. So as much as Sirius wanted to be Dad, he wouldn't allow it to happen. In death, being Harry's Dad was all that James had left, and Sirius would never seek to take that from him.
Very carefully, Sirius eased his arms from around the warm slumbering child and slid from the bed. He tucked the blankets more securely around Harry's shoulders, brushing his fingertips down flushed cheeks. He bent down and pressed a kiss against the sleep moist forehead, lingering a moment as if willing the boy's subconscious to feel the strength of his love. In his sleep, Harry sighed deeply, rolling over slightly and burying his cheek into his pillow.
Safe. Secure. Healthy.
Sirius moved stealthily to the door, pausing to give the boy one more look. He loved Harry desperately, and he knew that Harry loved him. And that would be enough.
************HP*********
Sirius was standing by the small kitchenette counter the next morning, half buried in a large cup of coffee clenched in his hands like a lifeline. He groaned as he rolled his shoulders around, the overexertion from his previous day's workout having made a roaring announcement of its presence upon his waking up.
For the first time he felt as he had as a trainee at the Auror Academy. Growing up he had not been physically out of shape, per se, but he had had a fairly soft upbringing as a member of a privileged house. Gentleman wizards did not have a paying occupation after all, and waking up every morning to earn a day's wage was not something he had ever been taught to think about.
Noble wizarding families generally left the growth and success of their family fortunes to the goblins who, for a hefty fee of course, would ruthlessly reign over the steady increase of gold spilling into the various vaults deep in the earth below them. As the eldest son and heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Sirius had never really given a profession any sort of serious consideration.
That changed the day he turned his back on his heritage and was financially cut off from the endless tide of wealth that had always surrounded him.
Although deeply committed to what he believed to be the true and just path, privately he was quietly frightened by what the unknown future held for him. Always a good student, he found himself in the late years of his formal education, genuinely in need of a career. He had two more years to go at Hogwarts, and it was good timing too as he still had options before him. After taking him in, the Potters had generously pledged their financial support for his tuition and upkeep, the uncommonly kind couple awfully fond of the mischievous outcast.
Detesting all that was dark and representative of his own parents, Sirius pushed himself even harder to the light. Anxious to prove to James' parents that their faith was not wasted on him, he chose a most aggressive academic path, enrolling in all of the courses to allow himself to be considered an acceptable applicant for the Auror Department. It wasn't enough for Sirius to turn his back on dark wizards. He wanted to hunt them and bring them to justice.
In an outcome that no one could have predicted, midway through his sixth year Sirius received a notice from Gringotts informing him of the demise of his Uncle Alphard who had, shockingly, made him his heir. Sirius had only a few good memories of the man from his childhood. To him, Alphard was mostly a willing accomplice to the cruel tortures that Sirius' father had inflicted on his eldest son. Faced with the idea of now being made master of Celestial Court, the very setting of unholy acts of cruelty, Sirius felt nothing but revulsion.
But, after a few nights of too much firewhiskey and contemplation, he came to the conclusion that the best revenge was a life well lived. His uncle's gold would be used against the heritage that had produced it. The house of horrors to be used to harbor those that the builders felt beneath them. Although now financially independent, Sirius worked even harder to earn his place with the Aurors.
He stood in his small kitchen area, deep in contemplation about those few scary, crazy, desperate days leading up to the first war, brought out of his memories only by the aggressively noisy arrival of his godson pounding his way into the sitting room with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.
Hair wild, as if a brush had never touched it, tie draped around the small neck, shirttail untucked and hanging below his school jumper. Sirius watched him fondly as the boy dashed around the room, retrieving a dress shoe from under the couch, stuffing quills and parchment into his schoolbag, hurried but untroubled.
It pained Sirius to have to put a dark cloud over the boy so early in the morning.
"Harry, I need a word, please."
Stopping short, the boy glanced, frowning.
"I'm kind of late. Can we talk at lunch?"
Shaking his head, Sirius motioned him over to the table, pulling out a chair for him to deposit himself into. Reluctantly dropping his belongings on the couch, Harry obediently shuffled to the table and sat, eyes downcast, hands fidgeting.
Sirius sat next to him, reaching out to gently rub between the boy's shoulder blades in an attempt to soothe.
"We need to talk about something important."
Harry risked a quick peek at his godfather. The man didn't look angry with him, just serious and a little sad.
"Am I in trouble again?" he asked, scrunching up his face. His godfather drew in a deep breath, pulling back a little, hands clasped together.
"I'm having your things moved here from Gryffindor Tower today," Sirius stated, his tone gentle, but firm. "I wanted you to know because I will expect you back here to stay when your classes are done for the day."
Harry sat up in surprise, his face crushed and his eyes blinking owlishly in protest.
"What? Why? Sirius, please don't make me leave the dorm!"
Sirius leaned over and cupped Harry's chin. The older man's eyes were pained at his godson's obvious distress, but his stance was unyielding.
"I'm sorry, Harry. But I'm afraid this isn't up for negotiation."
Harry's face fell, recognizing the finality of the pronouncement, and he pulled slowly out of Sirius' grasp. He hunched over in his chair, suddenly finding his socks interesting.
"It's more punishment for happened the other night, isn't it," he stated in a small voice.
"Somewhat," Sirius agreed. "But it's also for your protection," he continued quickly. "With the First Task tomorrow, I don't want to take any chances of someone messing about with you tonight."
"It's not fair," Harry grumped, already feeling sorry for himself. He sat back abruptly in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.
"You already punished me. Hard."
The descriptor was delivered more as a cranky self pitying whinge than as an accusation, but it made his godfather visibly wince with the reminder nevertheless.
"And I didn't want to be in this bloody tournament anyway!"
Sirius swallowed the little wave of bile that had risen in his throat and ignored the language. He didn't blame the boy for being upset. Harry already had so little normalcy in life and Sirius felt very guilty for depriving him of more.
"I know, little one," he soothed. "But my mind is made up."
Harry shot him a defeated frown and knew better than to push the issue. Once Sirius decided on something, he very rarely changed his mind. Besides which, he felt himself dangerously close to crossing the line into blatant disrespect if he kept this nonsense up, and he didn't want that. His godfather didn't deserve it.
"How long?" he asked, not really wanting the answer. It had to be extreme to have necessitated the removal of his belongings.
"I'm not sure, Sirius answered honestly. "We're going to have to see how things go."
He reached over and gently directed Harry to face him again, looking at the boy with all of the paternal firmness he could muster.
"My trust in you making good choices is a little shaken right now, young man," he scolded gently. "I'll sleep better at night if I know where you are."
Harry blushed, shame rising up in his neck to his cheeks. "Sorry," he whispered again.
Sirius sighed and pulled the boy to him, hugging him against his chest and burying the side of his face in Harry's raven hair.
"I love you, Harry. And I'm not taking your friends away from you. You can have them up here as much as you like. Okay?"
The boy nodded and pulled away. "Can I go now? I really am late meeting them for breakfast."
Sirius nodded and helped him shoulder his schoolbag, giving him another quick hug and seeing him to the door. He watched Harry trudge down the stairs dejectedly, the former prisoner feeling like the world's biggest heel for putting his godson in his own gilded cage.
*************HP**********
In a bit of a foul temper, Harry took his time making his way to the Great Hall.
On the one hand he knew that he probably deserved to be on restriction for his little unauthorized foray into the forest the other night. But on the other, he felt that he had paid enough of a price for his transgression.
However, remembering his godfather's fear and anger and the raw emotions as he beat himself up for it yesterday, Harry bit his tongue and vowed to take his punishment without too much fuss.
It didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
Breakfast was almost halfway over by the time he arrived, but most of his friends were still seated, chatting and nibbling while going through the morning's owl post.
Hedwig didn't make many appearances these days as Harry really had no one outside of the castle to converse with. She spent most of her days hunting and relaxing in the owlry, and Harry made a mental note to take her some treats and pay her a visit soon, wondering, as he thought about it, if Sirius would allow it.
Hermione had the Daily Prophet spread out in front of her, casually reading as she chewed daintily on apple wedges and pointedly ignoring Ron, the redheaded boy sitting across from her and appearing to be frantically scribbling some last minute homework.
"Morning," Harry greeted them as he dropped down on the bench next to Ron. He pulled some sausages towards him as he took a gulp of pumpkin juice.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, Prophet forgotten. "Are you okay?" she asked in a slightly quieter voice, worry etched on her face.
Harry snorted good naturedly at her concern and gave her a smile. "I'm fine, Hermione." When she looked as if she didn't quite believe him, he hurried to assure her. "Really."
Ron was blushing furiously, his cheeks competing for color with his hair. "We were worried, mate. Sirius looked like he had gone spare."
Hermione nodded in agreement. She had been positively furious with Ron when he had told her what had happened, her anger only slowing down a bit when Ron had confessed to having received a couple of smacks of his own.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding. "He wasn't really pleased with me. I got in massive trouble."
"Mum wasn't too pleased either, when she found out what you two rascals had done," Fred chimed in from where some of their housemates had been listening.
"She sent Ickle Ronnikins a howler yesterday, didn't she little brother," George added, smirking gleefully. "Professor Lupin sent Mum an owl and she went positively mental."
At that several of the other students laughed and poor Ron's face overtook his hair and he cringed a little further down into his seat.
Harry threw his friend a sympathetic look. Mrs. Weasley was not above a little public humiliation when expressing her displeasure with her children.
"How bad?" he asked, concerned for his friend's dignity. "Worse than second year?"
Ron nodded miserably. "Way worse."
Leaning over, George dramatically stage-whispered to Harry. "She told him she was going to charm her spoon to follow him around all Christmas holiday and smack him."
The table laughed again, even drawing some attention from the Hufflepuffs next to them, and Ron slumped forward onto the table covering his head with his right arm.
"She can't do that, can she?" Ron whimpered, his words muffled by his jumper sleeve.
Harry felt terrible for the embarrassment of his best mate and decided to sacrifice himself to the giggling students who seemed to be taking great pleasure in Ron's predicament.
Reaching for the toast he said sympathetically, "Rotten luck, mate, having to wait until Christmas for a smacking. I'm glad Sirius gave me mine already. Now I don't have to think about it."
Hearing this, most of the table went very quiet, silverware clattering against plates as they were dropped, and Harry ignored their stares and just buttered his toast. Ron sat up and gave Harry a grateful smile even as the twins sputtered next to him in disbelief.
"There's no way," Fred began.
"That a Marauder," George chimed in.
"Would do something like that," they finished together.
Harry shrugged and bit into his toast. "I assure you, there is," he told them between bites. "He's kind of an expert, actually," he added ruefully.
Fred and George both sat back in shock. Their faith in the historic pranksters a bit rattled. Their mum had hinted that Sirius was an old fashioned sort of guardian, but having met the jovial man, they hadn't actually believed it.
Harry's admission halted the giggling at the table, the idea of one of their favorite professors being that strict with their housemate sobering them. A few stole a glance at Professor Black at the head table, turning back around quickly when he noticed and gave them a questioning look.
Hermione snapped her paper closed and began to gather her things. "It's almost time for Herbology," she announced, attempting to break the tension. "We should get going."
Harry quickly inhaled the rest of his breakfast, choking down his vitamins and taking a large swig of pumpkin juice as he stood to gather up his schoolbag. He paused to give Sirius a quick wave goodbye and joined his friends as they filed out of the Hall.
Flanked by Ron and Hermione, Harry walked determinedly towards the path to the greenhouse, aware of the groups of staring and whispering students congregated behind him.
"They're talking about you," Ron muttered quietly, his face blushing red again. "Sorry."
"Let them," Harry answered, a bit of a sneer forming on his lip. "At least its for something actually true this time, and not just something they accused me of."
Hermione frowned at the hurt tone in her friend's voice. Harry had had more than his share of lies being spread about him, and she knew that deep down it was hard for him to have to buck up all the time.
"Are you prepared for tomorrow?" she asked, wanting to change the subject.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "As much as I ever will be, I guess. I've been practicing a lot."
"You'll do great, mate," Ron chimed in, slapping Harry on the back. "I can't wait to see how brave that git Diggory thinks he is, once he has to face a real dragon," he stated emphatically, jerking his chin towards the tall boy in the distance in the yellow and black robes.
"Cedric!" Harry blurted out, coming to an abrupt halt in realization. "Cedric doesn't know about the dragons. He's probably the only one."
He waited a moment in thought, before turning to his friends. "I have to tell him. Its only fair. Go on ahead to class. I'll meet you there."
Ron and Hermione watched Harry sprint away. Oddly it looked like Harry had spelled the older boy's school bag open, but when Cedric sent his friends on their way and bent down to gather up his belongings, they could see Harry talking to him privately.
Hermione took a last look and then strode away quickly, forcing Ron to trot to catch up with her.
"'Mione, wait!" he called, but the brunette didn't slow her pace. After a few moments, he finally managed to fall into step next to her.
"Look," he said, sadly. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry."
Hermione's brow furrowed and she pinched her lips together. She missed him terribly, of course, but she was just too hurt to forget. Still, she stopped when he grabbed her arm gently, and allowed him to tangle his fingers in her hair.
"I know I'm a great big wanker sometimes," he said, trying to elicit a smile. "I can't help it. I'm a boy."
He gave her a mischievous grin and he could see that she was having trouble keeping her firm composure.
"But I wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt you. Harry would kill me."
The last statement did make her smile and she didn't protest when Ron took her hand in his and leaned over as if to kiss her. But before he reached her lips, his eyes trailed upward and behind her, making Hermione turn to see what caught his interest. Behind them, a group of girls from Beauxbatons was shuttling by in their normal pack formation, Fleur in the lead. Infuriated, Hermione ripped her hand from Ron's and ran the rest of the way to the greenhouse, leaving the bewitched and befuddled redhead behind.
***************HP***********
Sirius and Harry were hunched over a wizards chessboard in the quiet comfort of the cozy residence's sitting room. Sirius was sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows perched on his knees, index fingers tenting his lips in concentration.
It wasn't actually the game that had the worried godfather's attention. It was on the boy curled up on the floor across from the table. His usual gaming skills way off kilter, his mind distracted.
Harry had been quiet at dinner, pushing food around on his plate until a sharp clearing of his godfather's throat had prompted him to eat. Afterwards, Sirius had suggested the chess game as a means to deflect his attentions from the thoughts plaguing the boy's mind, but it clearly not worked. Harry's miniature army was getting pulverized.
In the corner of the room the clock softly chimed the arrival of eight o'clock. Harry pushed himself to his feet, stretching the sleep out of his limbs from too much time on the floor.
"I guess we'll have to finish tomorrow," he said quietly, matter-of-factly. His words the first he had spoken in quite a while.
Startled, Sirius looked up at him in concern. "Are you okay?"
Harry shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'm going to get ready for bed."
At his godfather's confused look, Harry continued "It's eight o'clock."
"Oh," Sirius said, uncertainty still playing around the edges of his forehead. "Well, extra sleep is probably a good thing with such a big day ahead of you tomorrow."
Harry squinted his eyes and regarded his godfather as if the man had suddenly gone barmy. "I'm grounded," he reminded him.
"Oh," Sirius replied, realization washing over him. "Right." He looked up at the boy, pale and with deep lines of worry etched across his young features. Patting the couch next to him, he beckoned.
"Come sit with your old godfather a minute."
Harry pursed his lips but he obeyed, sauntering over to the couch and dropping down next to the older man. Sirius put his arm around Harry's small shoulders and drew him in closer, the boy relaxing slightly in the affection.
"I told you before, this is really more for your protection than punishment," he said gently. "You don't need to go to bed early, kiddo. I'm just worried about your safety."
Harry deflated a bit, knocking his knee back and forth into Sirius' as they sat pressed together.
"I'm scared," he whispered.
Sirius reached over and took Harry's chin, gently forcing the boy to look at him.
"I'd be worried about you if you weren't."
After a quick heartbeat Harry nodded, his forehead wrinkled in thought. He allowed his godfather to pull him against the older man's broad chest, finding security and peace with his ear pressed against Sirius, listening to the comforting thump-thump of his godfather's heartbeat.
"It's no small thing, what you're being asked to do tomorrow," Sirius continued, resting his cheek against the top of Harry's head. "Grown wizards would pale at the thought of having to face a dragon."
He felt Harry shudder a little and he tightened his embrace. "But you are bright and remarkably talented, little one," he added, pressing a kiss on the messy black hair.
"And what's more, you're ready."
************HP***********
Sirius escorted Harry to the champions tent after lunch.
The entire morning had flown by in a blur. It was a good job that Professor Binns never seemed to pay his living students much mind as he droned on and on about the goblin rebellions. As the minutes had ticked along Harry was turning impressively darker shades of green.
He couldn't so much as stomach a single biscuit as he sat in the Great Hall, the other students' conversations blending into a single buzz around him, like a swarm of annoying bees that he wished would just belt up already, his nerves frayed and tender.
When Sirius had gently tapped him on the shoulder, Harry had practically jumped right out of his skin. With a face that was meant to encourage, but only succeeded in showcasing Sirius' own fears, his godfather had gently assisted him in standing, a firm arm around his shoulders as they walked together to the tent.
"I'm not allowed inside," Sirius said quietly, as he rubbed some warmth into Harry's arms. The boy's skin was icy goose flesh.
Harry's breathing picked up its pace, and although he tried to square his small shoulders, his eyes darted around the enclosure, like a trapped animal looking for escape. Sirius gathered him into his arms, allowing a fleeting thought of just whisking his godson away to the safety of Celestial Court to pass through his mind. Had he been able to Disapparate, he might have done just that.
Damn the consequences.
A rustle from the tent flap had the both of them nervously looking over and they both let out a breath that neither knew they were holding when they saw Remus stepping out.
"It's time, Harry," he said gently, motioning the boy towards him.
Sirius took Harry's face in his hands, softly rubbing his thumbs over the boy's cheeks.
"I love you, Harry James. You're going to do just fine."
Harry reached forward and hugged his godfather tightly, gripping the back of Sirius' robes with a fierceness that scared him.
"Love you too," he muttered, his voice muffled in the layers of fabric.
Reluctantly, Sirius pushed him back, running a hand through the messy black locks.
"And when this is over, I'll let you have your first taste of firewhiskey."
"Really?" Harry sputtered, smiling for the first time all day.
Sirius nodded and watched as Remus led his child away from him, his arms physically aching to reach out and keep him safe.
Just before Harry allowed himself to be tugged into the tent, he turned, needing one more second of support from his godfather.
Sirius nodded at him encouragingly. "It's just another Quidditch match, Harry." And then he winked.
Taking a deep breath, determined to be brave and make his godfather proud, Harry entered the tent.
At first glance it was easy to see that all three of the other champions were balls of nerves as well. Cedric was pacing a hole in the ground, his hands shaking. Fleur was looking a ghastly shade of green even darker than Harry's own, and Krum was scowling so darkly that Harry wasn't sure at first if he should be more afraid of the broody Bulgarian than he was of the dragon.
Remus strode to the center of the tent, speaking with Ludo Bagman. Harry vaguely remembered meeting the man at the Quidditch World Cup over the summer, and only really recognized him because he had donned his Wasp uniform again.
His fear returning with a vengeance, and feeling like he might momentarily sick up, Harry took refuge on a small bench, the voices around him buzzing in his ears once more. He leaned over and jammed his fists in his eyes, willing the scene to be gone. As if from a great distance, he heard his name being called.
He raised his head and choked out a hysterical sort of little chuckle. Ludo's voice was buzzing too, and in his ghastly old team robes, he in fact looked like a large bizarre wasp to Harry's frazzled mind.
Buzz Buzz Buzz
Remus frowned at him and beckoned him over to the other champions who were gathered in a half circle and regarding him strangely. On autopilot he rose and joined them.
One by one each champion drew a tiny perfect imitation of the dragon they were meant to prove themselves against. Harry, accepting of the fact that he had the worst luck in Britain, probably could have guessed that he would draw the vicious little Horntail. The teensy foul little beast baring it's fangs at him and releasing a minuscule stream of fire which immediately raised a blister on Harry's thumb as he held it suspended.
Outside somewhere a bell rang, and Ludo bustled off, his nervous energy practically leaving a physical wake behind him. Remus gave Harry an affectionate pat on the back. Not speaking, lest he should be accused of interference by the other champions, before making his way out of the tent where he found himself physically dragging Sirius away to the family section of the viewing stands.
Harry, knowing he would be last, slumped back down onto the bench and waited. One by one the other champions were called and Harry tuned out the noises, his fear palpable, his heartbeat rushing in his ears with sludgy thudding sounds.
He managed to stand when he heard his named called, surprised that he could still will his limbs to respond. Even more surprising he was able to force himself out of the tent and into the enclosure, with it's light too bright and sounds too loud. His eyes swept across the stands until he found the face that he needed to see.
Rock steady and encouraging, his godfather nodded at him and Harry felt the strength in him rise as he turned to face his challenge.
She was larger than he remembered. Her scales glistening in the sun, her eyes hooded and menacing. Her large leathery wings were drawn around her massive body protectively, razor sharp claws encircling a clutch of eggs at her feet.
From his distance, Harry could see the sunlight glint off of a shiny gold object in the center of the clutch and a flicker of familiarity rose from the pit of his stomach.
Sirius was right. This was just like Quidditch, and Harry was as fine a seeker as Hogwarts had ever had. At that moment, he knew he could do this.
Confidence building up in his limbs, he pulled out his wand and pointed towards the Astronomy Tower.
"ACCIO FIREBOLT!"
He waited a few heartbeats, allowing his broom to make its way from its place in his room. He had left the window open to facilitate the escape without breaking glass or impeding progress. As he waited, he regarded the dragon sharply, assessing her as he would another seeker.
She had size and strength on her side, besides the obvious advantage of her fiery breath, but Harry was fast and cunning.
It didn't take long before he heard the welcomed telltale sound of the magnificent broom whistling through the air as it came towards him. The split second it had arrived, he threw his leg over to straddle it, leaned over in his seeker stance and took off like a shot into the sky.
The crowd beneath him roared in approval, but Harry paid no attention, his concentration strictly focused as he devised a plan to distract the dragon from the clutch.
As practiced, he cast the Conjunctivitus curse, almost immediately realizing that it was a mistake. The curse only took the vision from one of her beady eyes, her thick hide deflecting it from the other. Partially blinded and injured she roared enraged, a huge wall of flame that barely missed him.
In the stands, Sirius' heart stopped beating for a moment and he mentally flayed himself for his suggestion.
The Horntail thrashed about in the nest, her spiked tail whipping around in an attempt to swat Harry like a fly. In her confusion, she stumbled, barely missing a colossal landing into the clutch.
Swearing under his breath, Harry realized that, if anything, the golden egg was even more firmly protected than before.
He had to get the dragon out of the nest.
Harry bolted up into the sky again, desperately trying to get the dragon's attention. He circled, then dove, circled, then dove, each time drawing the beast a little further away from the clutch.
Just a bit more he thought, diving straight into her vision. The dragon opened her cavernous maw and released a river of flames at the intruder. Harry pulled up sharply on his broom handle, rocketing upwards, the fire following him. He cast a fire freezing charm behind him, the flames licking him like a trip in the floo.
He knew this was his chance, the dragon in perfect position. He flew slightly out of the vision of her sighted eye, the beast confused as she hunted her prey. Harry searched the stands again, immediately finding his godfather's face. Drawing up from a well of happy memories inside of himself, he flung out his wand and cast the Patronus.
Prongs bolted from the wand in all of his majestic blazing white glory. In the stands, two men felt lumps rising in their throats from the familiar sight of the stag, while the rest of the audience leaped from their seats and cheered.
The stag shot like a bullet across the distance into the dragons view. Throwing all of her attention towards the Patronus, the dragon turned away from Harry and he flipped over and dove into a perfect execution of the Wronski Feint. Still inverted, he skimmed across the nest, scooping up the golden egg and taking off back into the sky.
The thunderous roar of the crowd was deafening, but it was the abrupt halt of the cheering that signaled to Harry that something had gone amiss, too late for him to notice the stream of flames chasing him until he started to burn.
It was the tail of the Firebolt that he noticed first. He could smell the bristles burning and felt the heat before he could see the flames. The broom dipped and bucked and he struggled to keep airborne. He barely noticed as his robe caught fire.
He tried, relatively unsuccessfully, to cast several Aguamenti, but he needed one hand to fly and the other to hold the egg. The annoying sensation on his back grew increasingly more bothersome as it warred with his magic and adrenaline for his attention.
Almost to the end, the Firebolt lurched and thudded, it's tail completely burned off. With a sickening realization washing over him, Harry spiraled out of the sky and into welcoming darkness.
********HP*********
Sirius and Remus flew down the stairs of the stands, wands drawn, arms pumping for speed. They had watched with their hearts in their mouths as Harry fell, his small body impacting the ground, the momentum of his botched landing causing him to bounce and roll a short distance.
Sirius reached him first, even before the Healers. Eyes wild with anxiety, he gently turned Harry over, praying for signs of life. There was large bruise forming down the right side of his face, but his chest was rising and falling deeply. Sirius let out a guttural cry of tension as he pressed his cheek against Harry's uninjured one. It was only Remus' firm hand that convinced Sirius to be tugged back a few inches to allow the medical staff to do their jobs.
Harry's unconscious form was stripped to his waist as the Healers examined the large patch of scorched skin running down his left shoulder blade. A garish purple paste was spread over the wound and it soon began to belch smokey mist from the surface.
Pomfrey pulled Sirius away after a few more minutes of examination, her hand smoothing his arm in a soothing manner.
"He'll be fine, Sirius," she assured him. "A bad burn, but probably not even a scar. He fractured his wrist, but nothing I can't fix in a trice. A bruised cheekbone, and a good knock to the head. We'll have to watch him for concussion."
Sirius felt his knees buckle in relief and he slammed his eyes shut thanking Merlin for the life of his son. The Healers were getting ready to load Harry onto to a stretcher for the trip to the Hospital Wing when he stopped them.
Pushing aside two affronted Healers without much care, he bent down and scooped Harry up in his arms, painstakingly mindful of the now plastered burn, lovingly cradling his precious bundle to his chest.
From behind him, he heard the blustering approach of Ludo Bagman, who made the suicidal mistake of pulling on one of Sirius' robe sleeves, disregarding Remus' protests.
"Mr. Black," he fretted anxiously, "He cannot leave until the scores are announced."
Sirius turned, a look of sheer malevolence on his handsome face, murder in his steely gray eyes.
"SOD the SODDING scores, you ridiculous deranged insect," he hissed at the man responsible for endangering his child. "And get the bloody hell out of my way while you still can."
The man backed up, sputtering and gulping as Sirius strode towards the castle. Walking by him, Remus gave him a look of I told you so, and followed in their wake. Both men, and the unconscious boy, oblivious to the chaos surrounding them.
*************HP*********
The first thing that Harry was aware of in the blackness that surrounded him was the stench of smoke and charred flesh that penetrated deep into his nasal cavity until he felt like he might choke on it.
Unfortunately for him, it was followed almost instantaneously by unimaginable pain. Pain that roared through him like Fiendfyre, making spots behind his eyelids and causing his back to arch, a scream tearing out of his throat.
His eyes exploded open, his vision it's spectacle-less blur amplifying his discomfort. He felt someone grab his face gently and was treated to the sight of his worried godfather's face, the man carding his fingers through his hair as he shushed him soothingly. A second later, vials of foul potions were being poured down his raw throat and he sputtered and gagged in protest.
The pain potion worked quickly and he felt some of the agony from his back receding. Able to think more clearly, he tried to focus on his last memories. Mental pictures appeared before him as if in slow motion, and in a moment of compromised clarity, he remembered what had happened. Wrung out, in pain and whoozy from all of the remedies swirling around his stomach, he burst into frantic tears.
"POPPY!" Sirius screamed. "Something's wrong!"
Harry's trembling sobs had Sirius anxiously trying to pet and soothe his child while Poppy rushed over, her skirts swishing.
"Open his mouth, Sirius. He needs a calming draught."
Hearing this, Harry bucked, violently shaking his head, his cries deepening and becoming more wrenching to bear.
In despair, Sirius gingerly took Harry's face in his hands and tried to still him.
"What do you need, little one?" he cooed urgently, his entire body tense with helplessness. "Tell me, so I can help."
Harry's sobs became anguished cries of pain as he shut his eyes in despair.
"My broom," he croaked out pitifully, "My broom."
A large gust of relief whooshed out of Sirius' lungs and he collapsed on the arm he had pressed against Harry's chest, his own chest heaving as the tension bled out.
He raised his head a few seconds later and saw his godson still deeply sobbing, the boy teetering on the fringes of consciousness.
"Oh, Harry," he scolded without heat. "You scared me to death. Playing silly buggers about a broom."
When the boy continued to let out deep gut wrenching wails, Sirius reached over and used his thumbs to smooth away the tears that continued to spill.
"I'll buy you a new broom, love," he promised, exhausted, relief making him amused over the potion induced fuss. "One for every day of the week, if you would like."
His offer made Harry shake his head again, his face red and mournful.
"Not the same," he protested, eyes unfocused and tears thick in his throat, his breaths gulping. "Your..first gift..to me."
Crushing realization dawned on Sirius, and his heart lurched painfully. He gathered the injured boy up in his arms and rocked him gently.
"I gave you many gifts before the Firebolt, little one," he murmured into Harry's ear. "So many that your mum started to search my robes before she would let me in the house!"
Feeling Harry choke out a wet little laugh against his shoulder, Sirius pushed him back a little to see his face, his arm bracing the battered body from falling. He reached for a wad of tissues next to the bed and began mopping up the teary smokey mess from Harry's cheeks.
"I bought your first broom when you were just a little sprog teething on my robes," he said as he smoothed Harry's sweaty fringe.
"You used to try to make the cat fly it," he added with a wink.
Harry chuckled a little, exhaustion and the vial of sleeping draught overcoming him as he leaned into Sirius' chest. His godfather gently lowered him back down onto his pillow, pulling the light blanket up to his neck.
"Sleep now," Sirius whispered as he leaned over to press a kiss on the tired forehead. "Your mates have a huge party planned for you, and your first sip of firewhiskey is waiting."
"Sirius?" He mumbled, waves of drowsiness pulling him down.
"Hmm?"
"No more fire."
Sirius lightly brushed his fingers over Harry's bruised cheek as he felt Harry's breathing even out.
"No more fire," he agreed.