They'd wound up at Moony's cottage; the field between the garden and forest was closer to the cottage—and therefore the Floo—than the Floo at the Burrow was to the orchard. Not that it was likely they'd need the Floo in the event of an emergency; firstly, because they were hoping they'd go undiscovered, but secondly because Harry and everyone else underage had been paired up with someone of age to Apparate away if something went wrong.
So far, though, it had been fine. The weather was a bit windy and a bit overcast but not wet yet, and warm enough that most of the others were in tshirts, even if Harry still wore long sleeves.
"Is it all right?" Hermione asked. She'd opted to stay on the ground, and was going over one of the parseltongue translation parchments they'd made the day before, but right now she looked a little worried and was chewing her lip.
"Yeah," Harry said, tightening one of the straps around his elbow. "I'm just getting used to it." The glove worked exactly as she and the twins had promised in that it let him hold on. And he trusted their spellwork completely, could feel the buckles and straps along and around his forearm and elbow, holding it onto him, so there was no chance it would fail and cause him to fall, but it still felt… odd.
More than ever, he was aware of the fact that his hand wasn't where it should be, kept going to adjust his grip, or his position on the broom only to remember that he had to tell the glove what to do first.
It shouldn't have been an issue… Harry had been flying for years now, and regularly let go with one hand mid-dive to catch a snitch, and once, the golden egg. At Christmas he'd flown with no hands because he was holding Stella.
Now, though, he was overthinking it, and he knew he was overthinking it, but he wasn't sure how not to—
"Harry's the snitch!" Padfoot bellowed, and winked at Harry before lowering himself over his broom and shooting forward.
One of the twins cackled and Fleur asked, "What does zat mean?"
"It means you have to try to catch him," Harry heard Ron shout, though he didn't see it; he'd turned away to avoid Padfoot—
"Nice try, Potter," Cedric said, as Harry felt a hand on his back.
"Diggory!" George shouted and began a five second countdown while Cedric zipped away. "Go!"
Fred got him and then Ginny got Fred, and then, eventually, Ron and George ganged up to get Ginny.
Harry was a good flier. If he wanted to brag, he'd say he was an excellent flier, and didn't think many people would dispute the claim. More, the Firebolt was an excellent broomstick. He should have been flying circles around everyone, but he wasn't, and he didn't care about winning this game at all, but he'd care when it was a real match, with a real snitch, with a real team that was depending on him, and a real opponent—like Hydrus Malfoy—to beat.
Harry urged his broom up higher after Ron with an awkward open and close to adjust his hold on the broom, twisting to dodge Fleur and making a face when the straps pulled strangely on his arm.
CRACK!
Three figures had appeared in the garden—two familiar, and one not—huddled closely together. There was a startled cry from Mrs Weasley who drew her wand, only for Dora to grab her wrist and force it down.
"It's Remus," Harry heard her say, already heading towards the garden.
"I didn't think he'd be around until tonight," Padfoot said, surprised but not unhappy, at least until the wind carried the scent of blood and pain up to them.
Harry tipped his broom towards the ground and plummeted, pulling his wand as he went. He got there before any of the others, yanking up hard to level out before he hit Moony's blackberry bushes. The straps from his glove dug into his arm but it worked, and he hovered at shoulder height.
Moony grimaced; his shirt was torn and one side of his face looked swollen from a stinging hex. The wand he was holding—had presumably used to Apparate—was not his own, and he had long, bleeding scratches from what were probably fingernails on his arm. Matt looked much worse and seemed to only be upright because Moony and a boy a little older than Harry—a Hufflepuff from school, Harry suddenly realised—were holding him there; his arm was twisted at an unnatural angle and he was hunched in a way that made Harry suspect damage to his ribs. His clothes were torn and scorched, and his neck and face looked both burned and bruised. Only the Hufflepuff boy looked unharmed… physically, anyway; he was very pale and Harry could see him trembling.
"Camp's lost," Moony said hoarsely, as Harry hopped off his broom. He reached for Matt, to try to take some of his weight off Moony, only to almost take them all out with his broom, which was still clasped tightly in his glove.
"Sorry," he said, thinking open. His broom toppled into the garden as swearing alerted him to Padfoot's arrival.
"Will they try to follow you?" Padfoot asked, waving his wand over Matt and wincing at whatever the results were. He cast something silently and Matt's breathing seemed to ease.
"I don't know," Moony said. "Greyback was good at tracking spells—" Dora, who'd reached them, lifted a hand as if to trace Moony's puffy face, then thought better of it. "—but I don't know if he taught any of the others."
"Pe'grew migh'," Matt slurred. Moony's expression tightened.
"Peter?" Padfoot snarled. His scent was angry and a little afraid. He turned to Harry, bending to retrieve their brooms. "I'm sorry, but—"
"It's fine," Harry said.
"Everyone back to Headquarters! We'll meet you there," Padfoot shouted; the others were all back on the ground, already paired off and looking alert. "Cedric, with us!" Mrs Weasley vanished with Stella and Ginny, and a few seconds later, Fred vanished with Hermione.
"Runcorn?" Cedric asked, jogging over, as Ron and George disappeared. Cedric looked to Remus and Matt and then back at Runcorn, dawning comprehension and surprise on his face. Runcorn's expression became defiant but Cedric recovered quickly: "Good to see you, mate."
"Marlene's," Padfoot said, to Moony and Dora, "since Runcorn can't get into Headquarters. I didn't think to bring a Secret…"
"Didn't think we'd need one," Dora said.
"I've got these two," Padfoot said, passing Harry their brooms, which he tucked awkwardly under the arm that wasn't around Matt. Padfoot replaced Runcorn on Matt's other side. "Dora, can you take Cedric?" She nodded, offering him her arm. "Remus, you take Runcorn."
Then Padfoot was spinning on the spot, pulling Matt, and by extension Harry, with him.
Marlene's sitting room materialised around them, familiar and—
"Ahh—" The startled shout became relieved: "Pott— Bloody hell!" Blaise threw himself off the armchair to avoid Padfoot's Stunner, wide eyes on Matt. "Malfoy sent me!"
A spike of worry shot through Harry; he'd spoken to Draco only a few hours ago and Draco had seemed fine. But if he was sending Blaise—
Blaise yelped again as the other four appeared and the room became very full. He didn't look well; his olive skin was oddly chalky and his eyes were bloodshot. Worse was his scent; it was angry and scared and upset. It made the air thick and unpleasant, like smog, and made Harry feel hot and cold at the same time, made his stomach churn and tighten. He coughed and rubbed his nose and he wasn't the only one; everyone but Dora and Cedric started to sniff or clear their throat.
"Stay with Harry?" Padfoot said, looking at Dora, and then at Harry. He pulled Matt away and Harry went to set the brooms aside, next to a small, unfamiliar rucksack. "Wand?" Harry didn't particularly like the implication that having Blaise here would give him cause to use it, but he slid his hand into his pocket anyway, and curled it around his wand. Padfoot began to half walk, half drag Matt towards the kitchen. "I'll fix Matt up and let Headquarters know we're all right."
"And Marlene know we've invaded," Dora said; she was watching Blaise.
Padfoot let out a gusty sigh and nodded: "Kreacher!" Kreacher appeared, large eyes taking in the crowded room. "Can you bring our healing kit, please? We'll meet you in Marlene's kitchen." As he popped away, Padfoot looked to Harry and said, "Unless you need me to—"
Harry shook his head. Padfoot, Moony, and Matt headed toward the kitchen, Runcorn and Cedric on their heels after a last curious look at Blaise, who they surely recognised from school.
"Is—is he okay?" Blaise asked, eyes on the doorway.
"Sirius'll fix him up," Dora said, sounding confident, though some worry remained in her scent. She glanced at Harry. "You're sure he's who you think?"
"I'm sure," Harry said, and reached up to rub his nose with his glove. Dora still looked a little uneasy. Constant vigilance, Harry thought, and looked at Blaise. "What house was I in at school?"
"P-Pippin, I think?" Dora's eyebrows twitched up. "Or was that Granger, and you were in—"
"It's him," Harry said. He cocked his head. "You said Draco sent you? Is he all right?"
"He's fine," Blaise said. "And he didn't send me so much as tell me where to find you. Eventually. Quite the guard dog you've got there, Potter." Blaise tried to smile but it came out weak and strained and didn't touch any part of his face other than his mouth. "I'm sorry to just..." Blaise's voice caught.
"Are you hurt?" Dora asked. Blaise seemed to think about it for a bit, then shook his head, though his scent still roiled. "In danger, then?" There was a muffled yelp from the kitchen followed by Padfoot murmuring apologies.
Blaise turned to Harry:
"Dad's—" Blaise cleared his throat. "She k-killed Dad."
Shock made Harry go still. He'd always liked Mr Benson, though Harry hadn't seen him since he started Hogwarts.
"Blaise..." he said, and then wasn't sure what more there was to say. The death—murder, even—of a parent was, unfortunately enough, something that Harry could relate to, but he'd been a baby, too young to remember anything about them except their deaths. Blaise had known his father, had grown up with him. It would be the equivalent of if Harry lost Padfoot, and Harry— couldn't.
"Who's 'she'?" Dora asked, voice soft and careful, though there was a directness to it that told Harry the question was coming from Auror Lupin, not Dora.
"Zabini?" Harry asked glancing at Blaise for confirmation. His expression tightened.
"The solicitor?" Dora asked, brow furrowing. Her eyes flicked over Blaise then, as if noticing the resemblance. "You're sure?"
"They said it was a heart attack," Blaise said, equal parts miserable and desperate. "And— it— it was—" There was something in his eyes that made Harry sure he'd be able to see thestrals when school returned. "—but I also know it was her."
Harry had no doubt he was right; Blaise's mother had been threatening Mr Benson since Harry and Blaise were first years. She'd been the form Blaise's Boggart had taken in third, and last year, Harry had had Kreacher help Blaise visit his father when Giovanna Zabini tried to keep them apart.
"When—?" Harry began.
"This morning," Blaise said hollowly.
A painful silence fell over the room.
"Do you have any proof?" Dora asked at last.
"I— no, but I know it was her. She's done it before, to her other husbands." Blaise looked at Harry, seeming to curl in on himself. "Black's an Auror, surely he can investigate—"
"Absolutely," Dora said firmly. "Sirius'd probably love a shot at Zabini after that rubbish she and Umbridge pulled in your first year." She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where Harry could hear the murmur of conversation, though too quiet to make out the words themselves. "Scrimgeour too, honestly, so if Sirius can't take it on, one of the rest of us will." Her expression softened, saddened. "I'm so sorry."
Blaise swallowed and nodded, and Dora—after giving Harry a searching look—slipped out of the room. Whatever had been holding Blaise together seemed to vanish and he collapsed onto the couch, head in his hands.
Harry sat down beside him and wasn't sure how a hug would be received, so settled for pressing their legs together. Blaise drew in a shuddering breath and pushed his leg back against Harry's.
"Thanks, Potter," Blaise muttered. "And sorry to just… burst in when you've obviously got other things going on." He looked toward the doorway to the kitchen.
"It's fine," Harry said quickly. He and Blaise had been friends in primary school before Giovanna took him away, and though they'd remained friends at Hogwarts, Blaise spent most of his time with the likes of Hydrus Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass. Associating with the Slytherins was a way to keep Giovanna happy, Harry knew, but it was still a little sad to think that Blaise might not have any genuine friends in that group that he could go to at times like these, and so instead had come to Harry.
Harry couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, but also all the more grateful for his own friends.
"I just— you've always been happy to help, and I figured they'd have you tucked away somewhere so safe that Giovanna wouldn't have a hope of finding me…"
So maybe Harry hadn't been Blaise's only choice, just the best one given the circumstances; Harry didn't know the families of the Slytherins, but if most of them were friends with the Malfoys, he very much doubted they'd sympathise with Blaise fleeing his mother after the death of his muggle father, or approve of having the Aurors investigate her.
"How… er… how's all that going, anyway?" Blaise asked, a bit distractedly. "I barely saw you after the last task. For a few days, everyone was saying you'd..."
Died. Harry knew that was how the sentence was supposed to end, but Blaise couldn't say it. Harry couldn't blame him. It was equally clear he was searching for a topic that wasn't Mr Benson or Giovanna and had decided Harry was a good one. And as much as Harry wanted to try to indulge him, the best he could manage was:
"Obviously not." He tucked his still-gloved arm under his good arm.
"Obviously," Blaise said, and seemed to realise that wasn't a good subject. "New glove?" he asked instead. "For Quidditch, or something?"
"Yeah," Harry said hoarsely, and tucked it closer to him. Blaise didn't seem to notice that; his eyes were on the brooms, but slightly glazed in a way that made Harry wonder if he was seeing anything in the room at all.
"Where is he?" Snape asked, striding out of Marlene's fireplace.
"Kitchen," Sirius said, waving Snape towards an armchair. "Harry and Hermione are with him, and Kreacher, just in case Zabini sends her elf after him."
"Please tell me you didn't just find the nearest muggleborn and assume she'd be a comfort—"
"Blaise and Hermione went to primary school together," Sirius said. Snape's expression twitched and Sirius knew he was genuinely surprised. "That's how Blaise knows Harry too… why else would he have come here?"
"I'd assumed he was here for you," Snape said, frowning. "You're his teacher and an Auror, and he's wanting his mother to be found guilty of murder."
"That might be a factor," Sirius said, "but I'm fairly sure Harry's what drew him here."
"Typical," Snape muttered. He glanced towards the kitchen and then eased himself down into the chair beside Sirius'. He looked very dark and out of place against the floral fabric of Marlene's armchair. "I suppose Weasley will step in for Potter when the meeting starts—"
"Hadn't got that far," Sirius said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I've just finished briefing Scrimgeour—" He nodded at his Sidekick, sitting on the arm of the chair. "—and he wants statements from Blaise so we can start an official investigation, but we'll keep it quiet, obviously, so Zabini doesn't get wind of it until we're ready for her to." Snape inclined his head, then raised an eyebrow.
"And I suppose you're intending to keep him in the meantime?" Snape asked. "Take another child with family problems and add them to your ever expanding pack?" Pack was a poor choice of word considering what had happened earlier, but Snape didn't know about that yet.
"No," Sirius said. "I was actually going to ask if you could." Snape looked surprised but not as disapproving or incredulous as Sirius had expected. "You're responsible for him during the school year anyway, and having him stay in Grimmauld is... probably not ideal."
"Probably not ideal," Snape repeated flatly. "That, Black, would be putting it lightly. Zabini—"
"Benson," Sirius said. "He doesn't want his mum's name."
"Benson," Snape continued unperturbed, "might not be able to reveal the location of Headquarters, but he would have access to just about every other piece of information pertaining to the Order's activities during his stay; there's not a single person in that house with a proper understanding of discretion."
"Some of them try," Sirius said, thinking of poor Molly and her losing battle to keep Ron and Ginny out of things, "but there's not really been a need for it. Everyone there's either a member of the Order, or one of Harry's friends and so they know it all anyway." He sighed. "You're right, though, that having Blaise there would complicate security… but my main concern is that it's not the best place for him right now." Snape arched an eyebrow. "He's just lost his dad—he's going to need time to process that, and I'm not sure he's going to want a house full of strangers around for it. And even if he thought that was worth the trade-off of having Harry there, Harry's not quite... " Sirius cleared his throat. "He's not in any state to be a full time support for Blaise."
"Doubtless Potter would disagree," Snape said, and curled his lip.
"I'm sure he would," Sirius said; Harry would be all too prepared to push aside his own problems to try to help Blaise through his own. "But he's not getting the chance to. We can visit and we can help—Scrimgeour's approved me taking on his case, so I'll definitely be helping—but we can't take him on for the rest of the summer. He's going to need better than that."
Snape stared at Sirius for what seemed like a long time. His face was utterly inscrutable—as usual—but his scent was interesting; there was surprise there, and approval, and something a bit grudging too, as if he would have preferred to not agree with Sirius.
"Really?" Sirius asked, amused. "After all these years of—"
"If you say friendship, Black, you will be the one spending the rest of the summer recovering," Snape said dangerously.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Sirius said, with a small smile. Snape's lip curled. "Will you take him?"
"Obviously," Snape said. "To start with, anyway. If there are other options he'd prefer—that are not Potter— then those can be explored."
"Thank you," Sirius said.
"Let Dumbledore know I'll be an apology this evening," Snape said, as if he hadn't heard. "I haven't got anything to report anyway, and I very much doubt anyone else will have anything of interest—"
"We've lost the camp," Sirius said. Snape arched an eyebrow but didn't look all that unhappy about it; for all that his grudging tolerance of Sirius had extended to a similar sort of tolerance for Remus, Snape still didn't like werewolves. "Remus and Matt got out—just—and they brought Ethan Runcorn with them. You know him, right?" Snape gave him a flat look. "Right. Well, yeah. That's about all I know, other than the fact that Peter was involved somehow." Snape's expression spasmed:
"And Lupin didn't think to make himself useful and deal with him while he was there?" Snape asked, with venom. "The camp for Pettigrew would be a fair trade."
Privately, Sirius agreed.
"He might have tried," Sirius said. For all he knew, that was what had broken the truce and lost them the camp. "I'm not actually sure what happened," Sirius said, grimly. "Remus mentioned he and Peter had an encounter, but they went to Dumbledore as soon as Matt was patched up enough, and I had to stay." He lifted his Sidekick.
Snape gave a slow nod and then his eyes flicked to the doorway; the sound of quiet conversation was drifting through it. Snape probably couldn't hear the actual words clearly but Sirius could: Blaise had just asked Hermione how long she was staying with Harry and been a bit taken aback by her answer of "Until we go back to Hogwarts."
"All summer?" Blaise had the forcedly outgoing tone of someone trying desperately to keep a conversation going; Sirius supposed he was determined to keep the topic of parents and death, and also trying to avoid silence. Even so, there was something a bit off, a bit flat, about his voice.
"Miss Hermione is a regular house guest," Kreacher said. "She often spends the school holidays with Master Harry."
"Wow, and Black's fine with…?" Sirius perked up at the sound of his name as Blaise went silent for a bit, seemingly gathering his thoughts: "I...er... take it you're not still seeing Krum, then." Harry sputtered a laugh.
"Well, no, we live in different countries so there's not much seeing," Hermione said, sounding a bit confused. "It's mostly letters—"
"We're friends," Harry interrupted, very firmly and a little more loudly; there must have been something in Blaise's scent. "She and Krum are long distance."
"Ah," Blaise said, as Hermione made a noise of comprehension and started to giggle:
"Me and—?"
Snape made a sound of revulsion and turned to Sirius:
"Teenagers," he said tersely, "must be the most single-minded—"
"Oh, Blaise, no," Hermione continued, and then there was a quiet, choked laugh from the kitchen; it was a bit broken, and shaky, but it was genuine; Sirius wondered what Hermione's face was doing—or Harry's, for that matter—to have coaxed that from Blaise. "Oh," Hermione said a moment later, in a much different voice; Sirius heard a faint sniffing sound and a shaky breath. "Oh no, can I—"
Snape harrumphed and stood, striding toward the kitchen:
"I think you've done enough, Granger," Sirius heard him say. Sirius pushed out of his own chair and went after him, arriving in time to see Hermione's face fall. He caught her eye from behind Snape's shoulder and shook his head; though his tone suggested otherwise, Sirius thought Snape had meant it as a compliment rather than an admonishment. Harry was perched beside her at the kitchen table, scowling at Snape and tugging absently at the straps of his glove. Kreacher was watching Snape with a near identical scowl. Snape seemed not to notice either of them: "Benson."
"Sir," Blaise said shakily, getting to his feet. He wiped hastily at his face.
"Gather your things," Snape said, though not unkindly.
"I'm going with you?" Blaise asked, and looked quickly at Harry, who'd turned his scowl on Sirius.
"Things are a bit complicated at our place right now," Sirius said gently. Harry's scowl deepened and then he twitched; Hermione—who must have kicked him—gave him a look and Harry's expression smoothed a little. "We thought it might be better—"
"Yeah," Blaise said, and looked a little relieved. He wiped his face again and bent to pick up the small rucksack he'd brought with him. "But you'll be in touch, right? About the case?"
"Definitely," Sirius said. "I'll be over in the morning to take a proper statement. And Snape can get letters to Harry or Hermione if you want someone to write to." Hermione offered Blaise a small smile when he glanced at her; Harry was too busy staring at Snape.
Snape's scent went from irritated to startled to considering and then he inclined his head. He and Blaise left a moment later—Blaise with a quiet, murmured thank you—and then Sirius looked to Harry:
"What was that?" he asked.
"Blaise likes Mars Bars when he's sad," Harry said, tugging at the straps of his glove again. "I thought Snape should know."