The final weeks of term passed similarly to those before it, save for the less than stellar reputation that Harry now carried. Apparently it was obvious, now, that the Dementor and the troll attack had been over-exaggerated, or were just straight up lies. Harry was just another first year again, save for the fact he was responsible for Slytherin's place at the top of the Quidditch league.
Winter had also arrived in full force, and the only shelters from the biting cold were the Common Room and the Great Hall. Huddles of students waddled around in hats and gloves, and in the depths of the dungeons' potions classrooms, students crowded around their cauldrons as their breath condensed in the air around them.
Harry appreciated McGonagall's decision to spare him from additional homework over the past few weeks, on account of his 'demonstration' on the troll. Surprisingly, his rapport with Snape remained intact, despite the altercation during the recent Quidditch match. Sirius had expressed his regret during their subsequent communication via mirror. Nevertheless, they both acknowledged a possible upside — the true culprit, be it Quirrell, an accomplice or an entirely different individual, may now believe they'd avoided suspicion.
On the final day of term, Harry and Ron gathered around Charlie's old wand in their dorm room. Neville was wrapped in his coat and scarf, ready to depart, but lingered as a sort of morbidly fascinated witness.
"You sure?" Harry asked.
Ron's face was scrunched up, as if Harry were about to break his arm rather than his wand. "Yes."
Harry reached out and grabbed the wand from Ron's bed. He snapped it.
Ron sighed a relieved breath.
"Oops," Harry said, fishing through his pockets. "Here, get yourself a replacement." Harry handed him seven galleons.
Ron looked down at the small stack of gold with wide eyes. "I can't believe you're willing to just give me this."
Harry shrugged, "That wand was an accident waiting to happen."
As Harry boarded the train, he wondered whether he'd done the right thing. The shrill whistle announced their departure and Harry, Hermione, and Neville waved out the window at Ron. Harry knew it wasn't a bad thing for Ron to get a new wand — it was an accident waiting to happen — but he couldnt help but wonder whether he was trying to force changes on his friends for his own sake rather than theirs.
It wasn't until the end of the train ride that Harry's friends brought up the attempts on his life again.
Harry had expressed his displeasure and annoyance throughout the days following their conversation outside the infirmary, and it seemed to have done the trick until this point. Harry absolutely hated the impact this was having on the atmosphere of their interactions, like a festering wound. But, it couldn't be helped. The consequences of them getting involved… Harry may have been selfish in some of the ways he pushed his friends, but in this — Harry was resolved.
Hermione's unsubtle build up towards another round of this argument distracted him from his attempts to read. It had started with a familiar frown of concentration, a nervous tapping of the foot, and had solidified into a set jaw and a determined stare. "Harry," she finally said, and Harry felt himself tense. He looked up, glancing at Neville who was biting his lip, but similarly expressive. Hermione took a breath. "I know you said we should drop it, but I think you should consider telling us what you know. All we want to do is make sure Snape doesn't get to whatever's hidden below Fluffy."
"No." Harry's voice was steady. Yet, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, the whites of his knuckles standing out. "Hermione, I won't... I can't let you put yourself in danger. Please…"
His words felt heavy with all that had been unvoiced these past months, and it seemed to echo in the silent compartment. In the corner of his eye he could see Neville, wide-eyed and attentive, yet outside the tension circling between him and Hermione.
Harry watched as conflicting emotions flickered across Hermione's face - clearly uncertain whether to feel vindicated by his admission, or unnerved by the urgency in his voice.
But in the end Hermione didn't back down. She leaned forward, her voice a bare whisper, yet tight with emotion. "But Harry... you're already in danger. And... and I'm scared for you."
The train began to slow and the platform of King's Cross Station came into view. Harry stood, reaching for his trunk, his face hidden. A thousand different retorts raced in his mind. He took another breath and spoke, softly. "Can we forget this and say goodbye without arguing about some stupid conspiracy?"
Hermione didn't answer for a moment, while Harry fiddled with the clasp on his trunk. He thought for a moment that she would refuse, but then he heard Neville whisper something.
"Yes, I suppose," she finally said.
Harry turned back around, eyes anywhere but hers. "Thank you."
Hermione spoke softly. "I'll write to you. You too, Neville."
At Harry's look she rolled her eyes, "Not about the conspiracy."
Harry smiled. "I'll miss you guys."
As they were getting off the train, Hermione said, "Oh! Don't forget to write to Ron, he's all alone at Hogwarts with just his brothers. I do hope he'll be okay."
Neville snorted. "I'm sure he'll manage, even if he has to sleep with one eye open,"
Hermione surprised Harry by hugging him tightly as they said goodbye on the platform. "Be careful," she said, and he nodded.
"I'll see you soon," Harry promised. "You don't need to worry about me."
The crowd bustled around him as Harry slowly began his search for Sirius. He'd clearly grown a bit this last term as being on the platform felt slightly less like being in a forest of redwoods. The crowd thinned as he approached the back of the platform, and he spotted managed to spot curly black hair.
Harry parted the edge of the crowd, and froze.
Sirius was there, waving to Harry as he noticed him arrive, but beside him and a wizard dressed in what was perhaps an attempt at smart muggle clothes, the Dursleys stood, glowering.
"What are they doing here?" Harry asked Sirius, looking at Vernon, who was refusing to meet his eye.
"Good afternoon, Mr Potter. I hope you've had an excellent first term," the unknown wizard between them said.
"Hello…" Harry gave a polite smile, but looked at Sirius questioningly.
The wizard coughed, "Oh, excuse me, my name is Adam Croftford. I am a member of Madam Bones' legal team." At Harry's nod the man gestured to his right and left. "I am here for the formality of your transferring guardianship from Mr and Mrs Dursley to Sirius Black."
Vernon's eyes snapped to Sirius, who was dressed in a simple shirt and jeans. Sirius leaned over to look at them with a dark smile. Harry held back a smile of his own. He doubted the Dursley's had even recognised Sirius as the deranged convict that had come to take Harry away back in August.
The wizard wiggled his tie in an attempt to straighten it, making it worse than it already was. "Do you consent to this transfer, Mr Potter? Mr Black has demonstrated that he is capable and willing to agree to your transfer to his guardianship." The man looked over at the Dursleys in poorly disguised disgust. "Mr and Mrs Dursley have expressed their lack of interest in the matter. Not that they have any choice, of course."
Harry took a quick step towards his godfather. "I'm going with Sirius,"
"Very well," said Mr Croftford with a cheerful smile. "I shall consider the matter closed. I hope you have a very happy holiday, Mr Black, Mr Potter."
The Dursleys jumped as the man disappeared with a pop.
"Goodbye, Vernon, Petunia," said Harry.
Sirius growled at them, "My previous threat still stands."
The world swirled away in a crack of Apparation as Harry savoured the last time he would ever see the face of his Aunt and Uncle again.
Harry and Sirius appeared with an echoing crack in the alleyway outside of the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry looked around. "What are we doing here?"
"I thought we could use a drink."
"I'm eleven," said Harry.
"A watered down butterbeer, then," Sirius patted Harry on the back, and pulled open the door. "I want to hear about school. We'll have some lunch and then head home. That sound alright?"
"Alright," Harry shrugged, with a smile. He felt oddly nervous as they entered the pub. Sirius waved at Tom, the barkeep, and they headed to a table set in a slight alcove. Sirius left Harry at the table and went to order, and Harry sat, shifting in his seat. At another table nearby a couple sat, drinking tea. On the other side of the room a family with young children filled the pub with the sound of laughter and forks scraping on plates. Harry watched them with a sad smile. The only family he'd ever known was the Dursleys, and then the occasional chaos that was the Weasley family home. Sitting with just Sirius in a pub was the kind of thing he'd imagined he might have done if his dad were still alive.
Sirius sighed deeply as he sat down at the table, placing two mugs of butterbeer between them. He looked around the pub, as Harry had, a similar expression on his face.
"It's been a long while since I've been able to do this." Sirius tapped his fingers on the side of his drink. "It's… nice."
Harry smiled at him, and reached for his butterbeer, taking a sip.
"How was your first term, Harry?"
Harry choked on his drink. "How— how was it?"
Sirius laughed, taking a gulp. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve, "I thought you might want to take your mind off the near-death bits. I'm sure there's plenty of normal things that happened. We've never really had the chance to talk about it normally, have we?"
Harry frowned, looking down into his drink, thinking.
"I suppose. I just thought you might want to talk about—" Harry waved his hands around, "you know..."
Sirius shook his head. "There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, just tell me the rest."
Harry nodded slowly and took another sip. "Well, I suppose the sorting was quite funny, apart from, you know, the venom."
Sirius nodded and smiled at him. "Let's hear it."
"It seems a bit ridiculous now, but I was worried the hat was going to place me in another house. I thought that maybe because of everything that's happened I might be more Hufflepuff, or Slytherin. It had been a close thing the first time I was sorted. The hat told me I'd do well in Slytherin, but I begged it for anything else. I was ready to do it again, but it didn't even touch my head this time before shouting 'Gryffindor'."
Sirius' eyes were twinkling. "You know, the exact same thing happened to your dad. Remus always said it was because the hat knew how stubborn he was and didn't want to talk to him."
Harry laughed with Sirius and started to relax into the conversation. He talked Sirius through the details, strange moments, and successes of his first term, occasionally drifting into memories of his other years at Hogwarts. Harry was surprised at how easy and normal it felt, sitting here with Sirius like this, but at the same time, he couldn't think of anything more rare and precious.
They talked long into the afternoon, forgetting some of the stress of the past months and enjoying the simple freedom that had, for so long, eluded them both.
Sirius returned from paying their bill and levitated Harry's trunk with a flick of his wand. "Right, let's go then."
They went back to the alley outside the pub and Sirius stopped, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I've been really looking forward to this, Harry, please tell me if I went overboard with decorations. I'm excited for you to see what I've done. It's practically a brand new home."
Harry was surprised, but glad. Sirius had always hated Grimmauld Place, no matter how much dusting and reorganising they'd done.
"I'm looking forward to it." Harry said. "Let's go."
Sirius grabbed Harry's arm and they twisted away, appearing in the living room of Grimmauld Place.
"One second, Harry." Sirius quickly bustled off, leaving Harry to look around the room. Harry frowned, and looked around again, more closely. Nothing had changed. Harry moved about the room, looking for any sign of Sirius' supposed decorations, or even some spring cleaning, but if anything, it seemed as if the room was more dusty than before.
Harry wandered into the next room, thinking that Sirius must have left the living room until last, for some reason.
Harry drew a finger across the kitchen table, and wiped the dust onto his trousers. The kitchen was no better.
"Sirius?" Harry called, starting to worry about Sirius' mental well-being.
"One second, Harry!" His voice drifted from upstairs.
A moment later, Harry heard the sound of feet pounding down the stairs. Sirius poked his head into the kitchen and grinned when he saw Harry. "Come on, grab here," he said, holding up a short length of fraying rope.
Harry hesitated, not knowing if this was the start of a prank.
"Come on, it won't bite."
Harry reluctantly grabbed on and felt a tugging sensation on his navel.
Hard ground arrested his fall. He could feel short grass and tightly pressed dirt beneath his hands, and the air was humid. Harry looked up, squinting against the sunlight.
"Welcome to the new Grimmauld Place," said Sirius with a flourish.
Before Harry, was a large villa made of speckled, tan stone. It was situated on a hill amidst a copse of trees, with rolling hills casting long shadows across the landscape in the orange light of the nearly-setting sun. In the distance, looking almost like dark clouds, was a line of mountains. Harry gasped at the unfamiliar landscape. He was pretty sure they weren't in England any more.
Harry looked at Sirius. "Is this yours?"
"Ours," Sirius corrected. "I bought it a couple of months ago but wanted to keep it a surprise."
"I thought— Sirius, you said it was practically a new home. This is literally a new home."
"It's quite old actually. I bought it off a friendly French fellow who was quite eager to get rid of it. He offered me a lot of wine on the side to buy it from him."
Harry shook his head in disbelief and looked back at the house. It was beautiful. The whole landscape surrounding them was incredible, too, and Harry couldn't see a single house or settlement in the land that surrounded them. It was perfect.
"Where are we, then? France?" Harry asked, trying to think where they might be able to portkey to.
"Yes," Sirius said. "Fairly near Avignon. There's quite a vibrant magical community there if we ever feel like meeting some locals."
Harry looked back at the house, excitement bubbling in his chest. He'd never been outside of Britain before, let alone to somewhere like this.
"Do you want to have a look inside?" Sirius asked.
"Lead the way!" Harry grinned.
Sirius and Harry walked up the pathway that led to the front door, gravel crunching beneath their feet.
The stone exterior continued inside, ceiling held up by dark wooden beams. There was furniture, some of which Harry recognised from Grimmauld Place, but most of which was new to him. A fireplace was alight in what seemed to be the largest downstairs room, two armchairs positioned in front of it.
Harry turned to Sirius. "This is grea— Ah!"
Instead of Sirius, the pale visage of a wrinkled old man was hovering right in Harry's face.
"Coucou, mon petit!"
Harry staggered back, until he realised the stranger was actually a ghost, that was now chuckling to himself.
"There's a ghost?"
Sirius nodded with a grin. "He's the reason I got this place for such a bargain. The muggle owner clearly thought it was haunted. Seemed too embarrassed to admit it. Aren't muggles funny?" He shrugged. "We can always get him exorcised."
Harry watched the ghost for a reaction, but clearly English wasn't his strong suit because he continued to stare off into the distance, rubbing his hands.
"How do you like the decorations?" Sirius asked.
Harry turned back, having not noticed before. He laughed as he saw the tree, which he'd mistaken for a normal plant.
In lieu of fir, an olive tree stood in the corner, covered in baubles and a small length of green tinsel. On the fireplace, above the brazier, were two stockings in Gryffindor red.
"There's more around the house," Sirius said. "I wanted to keep it low-key."
"I always hated the garish stuff Aunt Petunia would put up," Harry agreed. "This is nice. I like the olive tree."
Sirius grinned, "I thought it was more appropriate for the climate."
Harry smiled, looking around the room. He was a bit overwhelmed by this new place, but in a good way, he thought. He didn't think it could get any better.
"Want to see the pool?" Sirius asked with a sly smile.
It was dark by the time Harry and Sirius settled down by the fireplace for the evening. Harry stared intently at the leaping embers, legs crossed beneath him, while Sirius watched him, cradling a glass of amber liquid. Harry shifted in his seat, straightening. "I want to talk about Quirrell."
Sirius took a sip, closing his eyes. He let out a satisfied sigh. "We could talk about it tomorrow."
"I won't be able to sleep if we don't."
Sirius placed his glass down on the small table beside him. "I just wanted you to have a normal holiday, at least for a bit."
Harry scoffed, and glanced at Sirius. "Sorry, I appreciate all the effort, honestly. This has been the best holiday I've ever had, already. It's just— the idea of having anything normal is…" he trailed off.
Sirius smiled sadly at him. "You know I once felt the same way. My situation was nothing like yours, but my family was no better than the Dursleys in many ways."
Harry glanced up at him. Sirius rarely brought up his family.
"It wasn't until your grandparents took me in that I experienced something normal for the first time." He smiled and gestured around him. "I'm just trying to do for you some of what they did for me, something I think they would do, if they were here."
Harry looked back at the fire, blinking.
Sirius patted him on the knee. "I know it's hard, Harry. You are truly remarkable for dealing with everything as well as you have. I know I couldn't have done it at your age." He laughed. "I'm barely managing it now."
Harry smiled and looked up at him, quickly wiping his eyes with a sleeve. "Thanks, Sirius."
Sirius sighed, picking up his drink and slouching back in his chair.
"So how do we deal with Quirrell then?" Sirius asked.
Harry shifted in his seat. "I almost did, already."
Sirius' hand froze on its way to his drink. "You failed to mention that before."
"It wasn't anything big," Harry said quickly. "I just had a moment alone with him in the seventh floor corridor and I nearly jumped on him. I— I was a bit frustrated at the time and almost didn't catch myself."
Sirius grimaced. "I really need to be at Hogwarts."
"No, it's not that bad, Sirius. I wasn't really going to—"
"You were alone with him, Harry," said Sirius
"He's after the stone, he won't risk anything that can't be seen as an accident. Snape's got an eye on him too, now."
"Is that meant to make me feel better?" Sirius said.
Harry sighed. "Look, I made it through once before, I can do it again. I know what's going to happen and I know a lot more spells than I did then."
Sirius scoffed. "Are you forgetting the troll? The Quidditch match?"
Harry paused.
"I was sitting right next to him," Sirius all but shouted. "I was looking him in the eye as you dived towards the floor. We can't predict this man, and we can't rely on your foreknowledge when, clearly, we've already changed too much for it to happen the same way."
Harry endured Sirius' angry glare with his own stubborn one.
"I'm not one of your little friends, Harry." Sirius said in a low voice. "You don't have to protect me, it's the other way round. You can't go on like this."
Harry slammed his palm on the leather armrest of his chair. "You can't protect me. The bloody prophecy has made sure of that. Nobody can protect me from him. Not my teachers, not the ministry, not Dumbledore, and not you!"
Harry was breathing hard, staring now into the fire.
"Harry," Sirius said softly.
"I'm sorry." Harry said, through gritted teeth. He stood up sharply. "I'm tired, I'd like to go to bed now."
Sirius looked like he was going to say something but let it go with a small sigh. "You don't need my permission, Harry."
Harry left for his room, and Sirius remained by the fire, staring into the flames. He summoned a bottle of whiskey and topped up his glass. He remained there long into the night, until even the embers died.
