"How was Hogsmeade?" Tom asked, when Harry returned to the Slytherin's Study the same evening after another short trip to the Shrieking Shack.
Harry found some wands and clothes for Sirius Black in the Room of Requirement, and checked the Hogwarts kitchens, recalling the tip Pansy gave him. Turned out, getting food from Hogwarts house elves was extremely easy, they were all eager to follow through any request. Using one of his expandable pouches Harry stored everything there, throwing in a few somewhat entertaining books as well. He couldn't imagine not dying out of boredom if he was in Black's place. This was also a good way to get rid of that photograph, placing it in between pages for Sirius to find. The man would be happy to see his friends' faces, Harry reckoned.
It was already quite late, but Harry knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he wrapped everything around in his mind, or more like, until Tom wandered around in his mind so that they could discuss everything.
Tiredly, Harry sat in the armchair beside Tom. For a moment he wished he could lean on Tom's shoulder but that was impossible. Tom still had no solidity to him, only able to grasp inanimate objects with enough concentration. So Harry sighed instead, leaning against the back of the armchair.
"I met Nagini. And Voldemort. And Sirius Black."
"I see." Tom put his book aside, now giving Harry full attention. "Seems like it was a long day."
"It was. Had to use a Time-Turner."
Tom held out his hand, it hovered in the air expectantly, and Harry put his wand there, shifting a bit so he faced Tom.
"Legilimens," Tom said, pointing the wand at him, and Harry relaxed, pushing all the recent memories to the forefront. He wasn't planning to hide anything.
"I look sane," Tom observed, after lifting the spell and giving Harry the wand back.
"You do," Harry agreed. "And I could sense Voldemort's presence like it's more prominent than it was before. He probably already absorbed another horcrux."
Tom hummed. "That's entirely plausible, I see no reason why I wouldn't come to the same conclusion at some point."
Harry was reminded how indeed alike Voldemort appeared to Tom. He already believed Tom in that assessment, that they were one and the same, yet it was not the easiest concept to grasp when he could interact with both of them separately. But Tom still referred to Voldemort as himself. And after encountering a sane version of the man, Harry could see it better now.
Tom eyed Harry carefully as if unsure if he wanted to say something, and Harry stared back, ready to listen.
"I'm glad, you know. That you could forgive me," Tom admitted in a quiet voice, yet with a smile curling at his lips and eyes crinkling at the edges, an expression not much different from what Harry witnessed on Voldemort's face before.
Harry blinked. "It's not like I was holding a grudge in the first place."
"It still puts my mind at ease," Tom said resolutely. Then his eyes flashed with amusement.
"Don't think I failed to notice that you never mentioned a certain diary you have in your possession."
Harry averted his eyes, staying silent.
"Harry…" Tom's voice wasn't reprimanding, but it held a note of insistence. "You can't hold onto me forever."
"I know, but…" He looked Tom in the eyes. "We don't have to separate right now."
"No," Tom agreed and his eyes were intense. "We don't have to do it now. Or ever."
"Ever?"
"Don't misunderstand, Harry. You will return the diary to me someday. But it won't have to mean separation. Nothing between us has to change."
Harry wanted to believe him. Tom never lied to him. Yet, like any promises and intentions, things could change with time and circumstances. Maybe, it was the truth. With the way his conversation went with Voldemort earlier, it wouldn't be a stretch to assume their friendship would hold.
Harry had no energy to think about it now, so he nodded. There were still other things to talk about.
Ron Weasley was having a great day. For once, he got excited about school, going to classes with everyone became something he appreciated now on a different level. The twins teased him about it, but they would find anything to tease him about, so there was no change in that. Throughout summer Ron received some intense tutoring, only taking a break for a short week when they all travelled to Egypt. It was like good fortune was finally turning towards the Weasley family. On top of all the compensation money from Lockhart they managed to win a lottery and wasn't it awesome?
Upon return, Ron continued his studies with a newfound vigour, and was able to pass second-year exams with acceptable results. He even got Exceed Expectations for History of Magic and Charms, and Outstanding in Transfiguration!
Potions was still his least favourite subject, but he tried to pay more attention in class. The arrangement didn't change from last year, and with him being the odd one, he found himself doing the class alone. This wasn't going very well, to say the least.
He asked Hermione Granger to pair up with him again, even apologising just in case she was still cross with him for something. Like, for calling her cat a monster, but it was actually his Scabbers who suffered the most. The poor thing was chased so much these past weeks, at one point he even thought Crookshanks actually ate him. Ron could overlook it, but apparently Hermione was still mad at him, and working with Draco Malfoy went along too well for her to go back to mediocre potion brewing again. Mediocre, that's how she called it! He couldn't believe she actually chose to stick with Malfoy, the slimy git!
Ron solemnly gazed at where Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom chopped the ingredients in what seemed like a balanced tandem. He barely recognised Longbottom, so confident the boy became in Potions, he didn't even flinch when Professor Snape swooshed nearby.
"Weasley!" Snape barked, making Ron wince. "Get on with your potion or are you waiting for it to explode?"
Shit. Ron stirred the mixture in his cauldron three times clockwise. If this were going to be exposed to air anytime longer, it could indeed explode, he forgot about that.
Well, it was manageable. Not like he needed anyone's help with those. He was probably doing better by himself than Dean and Seamus, or Lavender and Parvati, or Kellah and Jasmine.
In the end, he achieved an Acceptable, all by himself, and it was better than the one Seamus managed to explode!
Exiting the classroom Ron was already daydreaming about the dinner, when he noticed Harry Potter standing by the door and looking at Ron expectantly. Was he waiting for him?
For some reason, Ron's palms got all sweaty. Could it be that the rift between them was salvageable? Could they still become… friends?
Ron knew of course that Harry Potter wasn't what he thought him to be, he learned that the hard way, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get to know what he actually was like. Still a slimy Slytherin, for sure, but it wasn't like Ron had many friends among Gryffindors. Not counting his siblings, only Neville still played chess with him from time to time. What if Harry noticed Ron's suffering in Potions and was going to offer him help like he did with Longbottom?
He approached Harry, sending him a questioning look.
"Hi, Ron," Harry greeted simply.
"Hello…" Ron was still unsure what all this was about.
"I was wondering. You have a pet rat, don't you?"
Ron blinked, not expecting this.
"Yeah, Scabbers. What about him?"
"I have a reason to believe he is sick."
"W-what… why?"
Surely, Scabbers was an old rat, who lived with their family for twelve years, and it was quite a feat for a small animal. He was probably on his way to die soon, but Ron didn't notice any signs of sickness. If anything it'll be Hermione's cat who gets to him first!
"It's spreading around among rodents, I've heard it from Hagrid. Better to check him now when it's not too late yet."
Ron furrowed his brows, recalling that recently Scabbers was acting kind of agitated instead of sleeping all day long, but he thought it was because of Crookshanks. But why would Harry Potter even care?
"What should I do?"
"You should bring him to the hospital wing."
"Okay, I guess…"
Ron would rather not go to the hospital wing anytime soon but maybe he should take this seriously… He caught Harry's eyes and nearly flinched at the weight of them. There was also an air of expectancy around.
"Wait, right now?" Ron's eyes widened with realisation. "What about dinner?"
"I can show you the way to the kitchens later, how about that?"
Oh, Ron knew the way to the kitchens since first year, Fred and George walked him there like it was some kind of sacred initiation. But he forgot he could actually do that instead of dinner rather than an extra snack. He blushed for not thinking this earlier and nodded.
Looking forward to spending some more time with Harry, Ron didn't say he already knew the way. Maybe they could become friends after all, maybe the whole rat thing was just an excuse for Harry to approach him.
They went to the Gryffindor Tower and Harry advised putting Scabbers in a cage, so that he didn't run away, the sickness could get him too agitated with the urge to flee before getting a check-up. Begrudgingly Ron did as told, and they walked to the hospital wing.
There Ron was met with a familiar sight he was too sick of. Empty beds and white walls, but also, why was Professor Macmillan there?
"Is this the one?" She motioned to the cage when they got closer, placing the cage on the floor.
Harry nodded. "Yes, he has one finger, I checked."
"Now, that's not a sign of sickness, it was always-"
But before Ron could finish Macmillan threw a string of spells at the rat, a Stupefy and Incarcerous among those, and once she banished the cage, an unfamiliar one.
Bloody hell. In place of Scabbers, there was now a man, an ugly snivelling fully grown man.
"Peter Pettigrew," Harry was saying. "The one who actually betrayed my parents."
"Thank you, Mr Potter, for bringing this to my attention. I will pass this to Mrs Bones immediately and will do what I can to see the matter through."
All this time, Scabbers wasn't actually Scabbers. It was an Animagus.
Ron felt like he was going to be sick.
"There, there." He heard a soft voice and recognised Madam Pomphrey, who rubbed circles on his back.
Ron used to talk to Scabbers. Especially as of late, since he felt so alone. Scabbers was someone who would listen to him, and so Ron shared his worries and all the secrets, content to have at least small ears. When feeling particularly upset, he hugged him to sleep…
The vision blurring, Ron took an unsteady step aside, and then threw up all over the floor.
Pomphrey vanished the mess with a flick of a wand guiding Ron to bed. "Drink this, sweetie. There."
Ron gulped the potion without much thinking about it, shivering, suddenly feeling cold. His plans for dinner were cancelled, he supposed, but somehow it was now the least of his worries.
The end of term was fast approaching, Harry anticipated the case to be resolved within weeks, and as a result the Dementors to be called out of school. Before that happened Harry was able to get close to one of these dark creatures.
At first, the communication seemed to be carried solely by his Shadow Dragon, the interaction reminding Harry of the way shadows mingled in the Death realm. Could Dementors themselves originate from those? They could suck a soul out of a living body, not even killing the body itself, and from a practical perspective it was similar to how Shadow Dragon allowed Harry to travel between the realms. Only, Harry wasn't affected in the process, neither his body nor a soul, not at all. Since Dementors had such an influence on people's emotions, much like the Veil of Death, or the death itself, it was no wonder one had to be clear of them in order to get through and return.
The guards in Azkaban were all Aurors with special training, capable of casting a corporeal Patronus, and having good proficiency in Occlumency. At least, that's what Harry read in a book on Dementors from Hogwarts library. It also mentioned that they were considered the darkest creatures and there wasn't any known way to kill or completely banish them. They appeared out of nowhere like an infection in the filthiest places where a lot of death occurred.
They were also made to obey the Ministry in exchange for feasting on the prisoners' souls, which in itself was a mystery to Harry. What could even stop such dark creatures from consuming each and every soul alive, the Ministry personnel included? Not everyone was a master in Patronus charm or Occlumency, and in theory hardly anything could prevent the hoard of Dementors going rampant on unsuspecting humans, if they were to wish so. Had they no will of their own?
'We only listen to your kind… Harry Potter.'
The noise in Harry's head rearranged itself into comprehensible words as he peered into the deep darkness behind the Dementor's hood.
'How do you know my name?' Harry thought back, guessing that his kind referred to a Necromancer, just as Genevieve called him when he first stepped into the Death realm.
'We see and know each and every soul… Must search for Sirius Black.'
This was an order from the Ministry, not yet updated since the investigation hasn't even started. But Harry had another opinion, and he was here to test the waters.
'No, you mustn't… You are to stop searching for Sirius Black.'
'As you wish…'
It was easier than Harry anticipated. His word against the Ministry. How was it even possible for the Ministry to gain power over them? Was it Eustace Peverell's doing? If so, how can Harry's word outweigh his? The Dementor must have picked up on Harry's questions because it sent a single answer.
'Eustace Peverell is no more…'
'What do you mean?'
Instead of answering, the Dementor drew closer, shadows connecting with those of Harry's dragon. Shade unfurled onto his shoulder, and Harry himself felt like being sucked into the void, disintegrating. He knew what it meant, for in that instant he also wished upon seeing with his own eyes, to cross over into the Death realm.
Harry isn't a bodiless entity, yet he floats through shadowed nothingness, only stopping with a conscious thought. He remembers walking in this place, and it must be a case of perspective. As soon as he's aware he's standing in a familiar place where he talked to Eustace before. There are still rocks and Harry can even sit on one, but he suspects the scenery may change if he so wishes. Tilting his head Harry watches as the distant void morphs into what resembles a distant starry sky.
"I see you aren't wasting your time here." He hears a familiar voice, coated with notes of amusement.
"Where's Eustace?" Harry asks, turning to the woman. The violet eyes of Genevieve appraise Harry with gentle curiosity. She sits on a nearby rock, her shape wavering only at the edges, long silver hair flowing just so even without any apparent wind. Despite only being a soul, her presence is heavy, power and danger emanating, yet a small smile dances on her lips.
"He's gone."
"Gone?"
"Passed on."
"Where?"
"To the cycle of reincarnation, to another life."
Harry falls silent musing it over.
"Why?" he eventually asks.
"It's a natural step forward, anyone can choose to do so. Eustace had nothing left to live here any longer."
'You shall figure it out' was the last thing Eustace said to Harry, and only now it became clear what he actually meant. He wasn't referring only to the shadow transportation, but everything.
Genevieve's eyes pierce through Harry's, and he understands what they convey. He only waited for you. And now he left.
"Why didn't you follow him?"
Genevieve laughs. "He may have been my husband, it doesn't mean I ought to follow. The marital bounds connected us between realms, but they are moot beyond and can't compel me such. Staying or passing on is an individual choice, and I've made mine."
"Is there any merit in staying?"
"Anything has its merit. I'm selfish like that, you see. And quite attached to my current life and memories. Most people are. Ghosts are the worst, they can't even accept the first step of death. Lingering, messing around among the living. It's half-existence."
"But for spirits of this realm?"
"It's existence. In death, but existence nonetheless."
"What happens to a reincarnated soul?"
"It gets reborn." Genevieve shrugs. "Another name gets attached to it, there's no telling who it was before."
"Was I someone else before?" Harry wonders what he considers to be a logical conclusion, but the woman laughs like it's the silliest thing to assume.
"No. You… obviously not. Neither was I."
"How can you tell?"
Her laughter dies down, and she gives Harry another appraising look. "Didn't you read the basic book on Necromancy?"
Harry shakes his head. Of course there must be some basic book on Necromancy, and of course he hasn't found it yet. "I only read Path to Death."
Genevieve's eyes now gain a sort of sympathy but also a hint of respect.
"Eustace barely knew anything when he wrote that."
"Where do I find other books?"
"All over the world. It's been centuries, Harry."
"Didn't Eustace own any books? Weren't they passed down through generations?"
"They might have. But…" Her eyes turn contemplative. "You are from a Peverell line yourself, aren't you?"
"I believe so, since I have the Invisibility Cloak…" Harry's eyes narrow, equally contemplative. "Is this where you tell me I can inherit the Peverell vault or something?"
"It can be done." Genevieve frowns, thinking it over. "You should enquire with Gringotts about that. But chances are, nothing is left there since the most important object, the Deathly Hollow, already reached you."
Harry nods, accepting it and making a note to check in the future. There's still something he has yet to understand.
"When you say I wasn't anyone else before, same as you… How can you tell?"
"This particular place." Genevieve motions around. "It's essentially yours. As a Necromancer you can will it to your liking. But also, not everyone can enter. Only the newest souls who haven't been to a single cycle of reincarnation." Her lips spread into a wide, almost sinister, smile. "That's another reason why I'm not going anywhere. Appearance of a new soul is a rarity. Necromancy requires power only such a soul can wield. Magical prodigy wizards might call those, the brightest and most powerful. But with each cycle its brightness diminishes, reflecting directly on the magic one holds, growing weaker…"
"And after too many cycles one becomes a squib," Harry concludes, his own observations on dying muggles and squibs clicking into place. "There are no muggles here."
"Indeed. Without a soul they can't pass beyond, nor do they have any magic."
This practically went against everything wizards believed about blood and purity thereof. And also coincided with Tom's suggestion that splitting his soul made him weaker.
"Oh, so that's why," Harry realised, but shook his head at Genevieve's questioning glance. He asked instead, "Why would anyone choose to enter a new life if that is the case?"
He can see now the reasoning behind Genevieve's choice. While it seems bare and lifeless in the realm of Death, the merits are undeniable. For someone who holds the power and the knowledge, it seems incomprehensible to let go.
"Once the choice is presented, we can't know if the next life is to be the last. But not everyone is so vain or attached to their lives, some wish to forget, some hope for the better. It's reasonable, too. Magical population is scarce as it is. If no one is alive, magic itself will die."
"Haven't you tried to prevent it at all?"
"Death?" She waves a hand dismissively. "I lived two hundred years without trying, and another century when I tried. I've done everything I wished for in life and I never feared death. Besides, I get to be the queen of this realm. Guiding all the poor souls, keeping them aware."
"What do I do?" Harry wonders if that's what Necromancer's responsibility entails, but Genevieve dismisses the notion.
"Don't concern yourself with other people, I know you hardly care. Your magic alone allows the realm to exist in the first place."
It's true, he hardly cares about what happens with other people, those he doesn't even know. As for the magic, he hardly notices anything of the sort. Shouldn't he have noticed the shift once Eustace left?
"My magic doesn't feel different."
"I told you, Necromancers have to be powerful. It's not a figure of speech or a petty compliment."
Harry tries to grasp the notion; if that's the case, the fact he didn't even notice anything… Shadowy wings of Shade brush over his shoulder and Harry remembers about time.
He leaves soon after, concentrating on his will to do so, violet eyes following his departure until the shadows swallow him whole. He's back to the clearing near the Black Lake where he had a conversation with Dementor earlier.
The same Dementor still hovered nearby and Harry checked for time. It was noon the next day, as opposed to midnight, when he initially departed. The Time-Turner would save him five hours at most, which he didn't hesitate to exploit. While it was the weekend, there wasn't any reason why he shouldn't start the day earlier.
He confirmed with the Dementor to obey the Ministry for now, unless Harry personally gave a contradicting order. There wasn't any reason to cause a commotion within the Ministry either, and the issue with Sirius Black should be soon resolved anyway.
By the time winter holidays rolled around the investigation was reaching its end, Daily Prophet released a number of articles, following the trial of Peter Pettigrew, who was found guilty. Sirius Black was announced innocent and free to return to the wizarding society. He was admitted to St Mungo's hospital for rehabilitation; the Ministry administered an official apology, which included monetary compensation as well. It was a blow after blow on the government, and Lucius Malfoy was right there to offer financial support.
Fudge made himself look like a beacon of justice, all so he wouldn't be criticised, to shine in comparison to Dumbledore, who received another blow to his reputation. He was the Chief Warlock at the time when Black was sentenced to Azkaban. While the fault was majorly with Bartemius Crouch Sr, they couldn't blame a dead man, so they blamed Dumbledore who was supposed to oversee the case. And overlooking the lack of a trial was not a trivial mistake.
With the capture of Pettigrew, who turned out to be a marked Death Eater, a new wave of fear washed over everyone who believed in the return of the Dark Lord. Some speculated this meant nothing, but as he was dragged to Azkaban, Pettigrew snivelled that his Lord would definitely come and save him.
On a brighter note, Dementors were indeed called out from Hogwarts, resuming their duty to watch over prisoners in Azkaban.
Harry made a quick tour to Gringotts to check on the state of the Peverell vault. The goblins greeted Harry overly enthusiastic upon learning of his request, and the old Grumpnook, responsible for the ancient vaults, led Harry to his office with an uncanny reverence and cheery attitude.
"So good to hear from you, Mr Potter. Yes, yes, you can indeed inherit the Peverell vault. Even at this young age, due to the ancient status of the vault, you'd receive a title of Lord. Very respected among wizards, rightfully so, you only have to claim…"
Harry narrowed his eyes at the goblin, suspicious of a sudden salesman attitude, which unpleasantly reminded him of uncle Vernon who used to behave so with an occasional highly important guest. Besides, Harry wasn't particularly interested in the lordships.
"What else would I receive from the vault?"
"You'd like to know the amount of wealth it contains?"
Harry only narrowed his eyes further, watching as Grumpnook ruffled through the parchments.
"Let's see, let's see… ah, such a big number! You'll get roughly fifty thousand galleons, three hundred and nine sickles, and seventy-six knuts…"
There was a heavy pause and the goblin looked back at Harry with a blank look.
Harry arched an eyebrow and the goblin adjusted his monocular. He coughed, ruffling again through the pages, but it was obvious that everything was already written on the first page. Harry snatched it away to look for himself.
"Mr Potter! That's confidential. Outrageous!" The goblin snatched the parchment back but Harry already saw what he needed to see.
"Fifty thousand galleons of debt," he said blankly.
"Well, technically, it's still a big number."
"Of debt."
"What do you think?" Grumpnook lost his revered look and scowled, showing the sharp teeth. "Keeping such an ancient vault is high maintenance."
Harry doubted there was any actual loss on Gringotts part. This must be just an artificial number to feed the goblins' greed. If this was the case with all ancient vaults, no wonder Voldemort only claimed the Slytherin name now, once he decided to play on a political scene and had the means to do so.
"Is there anything of value in the vault at all? Any books?" This was the only thing Harry was actually after.
"No… but you will get the status, the title, the Peverell lordship." Goblin's voice wasn't as confident anymore, met with Harry's uninteresting glare. "I'm afraid all the heirlooms have already been passed through other branches, bypassing Gringotts… But there's a Wizengamot seat!" Grumpnook perked up. "You'd have to appeal to the Ministry to make use of it, but the possibility is there…"
"Well, no. Thank you."
Wizengamot and politics wasn't at all Harry's game, he'd rather spare himself the hassle that came with those. As for the title… he shook his head, for such a price it wasn't worth it. He wasn't that unreasonable about the money.
Severus tried to keep calm as he was squeezed among the plethora of redheads, with the exception of Lupin and Dumbledore. It was an unofficial Order of the Phoenix meeting of sorts, but essentially the Christmas celebration in the Burrow. Too many people in the crumpled space for his liking.
As usual Molly Weasley prepared a feast.
"Have you tried the chicken, Severus?" She put another heap of food on his plate. "You do look quite pale. Although, I must say green really suits you."
Severus gritted his teeth. The bloody woman actually knitted him an oversized green sweater with a big S on it, and she insisted, absolutely insisted that he should wear it, like all the other Weasleys in the room.
Albus didn't help, chuckling as a senile old man he was, saying that even he wasn't given the honour in the form of a Weasley sweater. "It does look quite comfy, Severus. Why don't you try it on?"
Why ever not indeed, Severus mentally snarled as he endured the humiliation. It was quite warm and comfy, but he would rather eat the damn thing than admit it.
"Just brilliant," Ron Weasley tossed the Daily Prophet with a huff. On the front cover there was a picture of Potter and Lovegood dancing at yesterday's posh Yule ball that was held by the Goyle family this year round. Although, it wasn't as posh and exclusive as Malfoys balls usually are, so the coverage held almost no restrictions.
Severus wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, if anything could swipe the headlines from the actual scandal going on, it'd be the Potter brat and speculations about his romances.
Ginevra glanced at the paper briefly before turning back to her food, disinterested.
"Oh, sorry, Ginny," Ron mumbled, shuffling the newspaper further down the table. The twins snatched it up reading through.
"At least it's not about your beloved rat." They cackled, making Ron grow sickly pale.
"Don't mention it…" The boy groaned weakly.
Molly caught sight of the article, sending her daughter a careful look. "Does it bother you, dear?" she asked.
Ginny shrugged. "I know they're only friends, Luna wouldn't lie to me, and she can be friends with anyone she likes. It's honestly okay."
The twins shared a look.
"If you say so…" Ron offered, looking uncomfortable and the equally uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Everyone knew how Ginny's little crush on Potter turned out, and the subject was generally avoided.
Ginny gave her family a look, voice resolute. "I never wanted to be Harry's friend. And he was right, I didn't care for him, not really. From what Luna tells me, I'm quite convinced we wouldn't get along. So yes, it's fine. Not everything revolves around Harry Potter," she finished firmly, but her face morphed into a scowl, and she had to take a goblet of pumpkin juice to hide her expression.
Severus could argue about the last statement; honestly, it was quite ridiculous to assume the world didn't revolve around the brat, when the topic of Harry Potter never got out of fashion for over a decade…
"This girl, Luna." Albus gazed at Ginny with interest. "What does she tell you about young Harry? Is he quite alright living with Malfoys?"
"I told you, Albus," Severus interjected irritably. "There's nothing to be concerned about with the Malfoys."
"And I quite believe you, Severus. Yet, I'm curious to hear other opinions as well."
Severus grimaced, pretending not to notice Molly's soft pitying look.
"Malfoys are alright." Ginny shrugged. "Luna says that Narcissa is lovely, she taught her to dance. Oh, and Luna does the art apprenticeship with Harry."
"Art- what?" Molly exclaimed. "Merlin, aren't those marginally overpriced?"
"Dunno. But it's Harry who pays for everything."
"Merlin's beard. That boy is going to get himself bankrupt." Molly sent a sharp pointed look at the twins, who chuckled in response.
"Non-non, dear mother!"
"We are to multiply his fortune!"
Molly shook her head while Dumbledore chuckled light-heartedly.
"What else, my girl?" He leaned a bit forward with interest, eyes twinkling.
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Not much, really. She's been to the manor, like several times, and Malfoys treated her well, especially Narcissa. I got the impression that Harry is good friends with Narcissa. Luna doesn't mention others much, but they all seem tolerable."
"Anything about young Draco?" Albus inquired.
"What about him?"
"Harry told me quite some time ago they were best friends."
Ron scoffed. "Even to me, it's clear as day they aren't friends. If anyone is his friend from Slytherin it's Pansy Parkinson, that bitch."
"Ronald Weasley!" Molly yelled. "Watch your language!"
Ron flushed, making Fred and George cackle. Dumbledore hummed, looking contemplative.
"What would you say, Remus?" He decided to switch interrogation to the man who stayed silent so far. Lupin blinked, not expecting to be addressed.
"Oh, Harry is a very talented young man, he's quite advanced in Defence. As you know, I've been teaching him Patronus lately. There's been some progress…"
"Did you tell him about his parents?" Arthur wondered.
"Of course. He does resemble them, Lily and James." Lupin smiled solemnly. "But at the same time, so different."
Dumbledore coughed uncomfortably. "That's what we all had to come to terms with. Isn't that right, Severus?"
"Indeed." Severus allowed curtly, already sick with the whole conversation.
"I got a promotion in the bank," Bill suddenly said, and everyone's eyes turned towards him. The boy had an air of nonchalance around him, but he looked sharply at the others, his sudden change of topic making everyone aware how all they did so far was gossip about Harry bloody Potter.
"Oh! That calls for celebration, Bill!" Arthur cheered.
"I got the heads-up from Professor Macmillan about the job in the Ministry," Percy piped in and everyone acted like they were interested in hearing the details.
"We got a new batch of dragon eggs last month." Charlie felt like it was his turn to share the news.
Remus actually became more interested with that flow of conversation. Severus was only too glad they moved on from discussing the Potter brat.
"There were talks about reviving the Triwizard Tournament," Charlie continued, "And it was hinted that dragons might be used for one of the tasks."
"Triwizard Tournament?" Dumbledore looked intrigued.
"Yeah, it was terminated for over a hundred years and still has to be approved through multiple departments. But we have to do the check-up on the dragons early on, so they are in top condition just in case."
That would be a nightmare, Severus thought. He just knew it, if Hogwarts were to be involved in this, it would be a disaster.
Speaking of disasters, Severus sent a curious look towards Lupin, wondering what kind of curse might befall the Defence Professor this year. He already looked a bit ill with the approaching full moon in a few days, but so far the werewolf was diligent in taking his potions.
Unless something else happened… At the start of the year, Snape could have bet on Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban somehow compromising the man. But only last week the news broke that the mutt was innocent.
And, Severus glanced around the table, briefly catching Dumbledore's eyes, they weren't talking about it. Not everyone knew, but Albus was the one who cast the Fidelius charm on the Potter's household. If anyone had a clue on the identity of a Secret Keeper, it was him. And yet, he allowed Black, his loyal member of the Order, to rot in Azkaban.
Secretly, Severus wasn't surprised. He was never charmed by the sweet talks of the old man. Resisting the urge to check on his Dark Mark in impatience, Severus shoved a mouthful of another dish that somehow appeared in front of him. At least Molly's food was delicious as ever.
After the Yule and Christmas and a few days of winter holidays to spare, Sirius Black was finally ready to be discharged from St Mungo's. Harry exchanged brief letters with Sirius, who wasn't allowed visitors so far, and knew his godfather looked forward to meeting Harry again. Narcissa expressed the desire to do so as well, to make sure Black doesn't run away from his duties, but Harry could see there was also a hint of concern in her eyes.
They turned cold and sharp as she looked over at the sullen man, who didn't seem all that in a hurry to leave the hospital. Upon noticing the visitors Sirius startled, shoving the book closed. Harry just about caught the familiar photograph used as a bookmark.
"Sirius Black," Narcissa didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Do us all a favour and show yourself at the family house already. It was void of its Head long enough."
"What?" Sirius blinked, glancing from Narcissa to Harry in confusion. "Who's the Head? What House?"
"You are," Harry replied. "The house of Black?"
However, it only made Sirius more confused. He set up on the bed, eyes settling on Narcissa. "Me? I was disowned the last I heard."
"And then put back again, and named the Head of House by your dear mother."
"Why?" His mouth hung open in shock. "I knew she lost it after losing Regulus but… What about Arcturus? I bet the geezer's still alive."
"Arcturus died two years ago. But you know full well he was wrapped around Walburga's finger and named her the Head of House a very long time ago. Walburga made all the decisions concerning the family and in her will she specifically named you," Narcissa explained patiently, only with a slight note of exasperation.
"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered without much emotion.
"It couldn't be a bad thing?" Harry tried to be encouraging. He learned from Narcissa that Black wasn't particularly fond of his family, but it shouldn't matter now. "At least you have a place to return to."
"That bloody place!"
Narcissa shook her head, then sighed, sitting on the bed beside Sirius, who tried to lean back from sudden proximity. Sometimes, Narcissa could be intimidating but she didn't try to be this time.
"Stay put, Sirius, and look me in the eyes." Her voice was now calm and gentle, and Harry could tell Sirius didn't quite have a choice, eyes snapping to Narcissa's as if mesmerised.
She held the gaze for some time before nodding and standing up. "Your mental state isn't damaged at all." There was relief in her posture but voice sharp again. "So stop clinging to the hospital sheets, I won't accept any excuses."
Sirius turned his eyes to Harry helplessly, but Harry didn't have anything to say against it.
"You better do as she says."
"Fine. I don't have anywhere else to go anyway." He sighed, crossing his arms. "But I can't do this alone, Harry. I need emotional support."
Big grey eyes turned begging. While Harry was the last person anyone would want emotional support from, he didn't mind going along with his godfather.
"Fine by me." Harry glanced at Narcissa who nodded to the silent question.
"I expected this to be the case. After all, you two have a lot to catch up onto. Call Dobby for anything you need, Harry. But I hope you still pop in before Hogwarts."
"Of course."
"You too, Sirius." She sent the man a small smile. "I know we weren't always close, but you are still family and welcome in my home too."
Sirius rubbed at the back of his head awkwardly, not expecting such a statement. He looked half-ready to snap something back like a petulant child but swallowed thickly and nodded. "Of course, Narcissa."
12 Grimmauld Place was a hidden location between numbers 11 and 13 on an unassuming Muggle street, protected by the ancestral magic and thus cloaked from the unwanted eyes. Essentially only wizards could see it, but an extra layer of wards prevented those outside the Black heritage to enter, and another one made it impossible even those of Black blood to do anything with the property until it welcomed the new Head of House first. Or so Narcissa explained.
This proved to be true, as Harry had to wait for the house to reveal itself while Sirius went there on his own. He quickly opened the door for Harry to go through with a somewhat desperate look on his face. There was a screeching voice coming from inside, which apparently was the reason for Sirius' sour expression.
"Don't mind the troll leg," Sirius was telling. "And don't mind the hag. It's just my mother."
Harry's eyes fell on the portrait of a woman, who stopped yelling for a short moment, only to resume again.
"Look at that! And here I thought you finally found the nerve to show up. Of course, you'd need your obnoxious friend to follow along!"
"That's Harry Potter, not James!" Sirius yelled back.
Walburga Black gave Harry another sharp look, narrowing her eyes, but didn't say anything.
Harry appreciated the small moment of silence, sharpening his focus on the feeling that rose within him as soon as he set foot into the house. It was all too familiar… but it couldn't be. The link, the connection…
"What the hell is this all about, huh?" Sirius interrogated the portrait. "Head of House? What a joke! Don't tell me you had a change of heart!"
Harry was itching to follow the thin thread, the more he concentrated, the more he was sure. It must be another horcrux, somewhere in the house. But he had to stay put for now, he couldn't risk it with Sirius around.
"So what if I did?" Walburga returned furiously. "I was a dying woman."
"Like I'd believe you! You were a heartless atrocious woman!"
"Family is everything, you ungrateful brat!"
"Only if it suits your twisted beliefs!"
"Blacks were dying too, we had no future! To hell with the beliefs! I was willing to accept the halfblood, if so it meant to continue the line. I made you a favour!"
"What on earth are you on about? What if I never got out of Azkaban?"
"All the better! No one would have to see that shame in our family then!"
Sirius gave his mother an utterly bewildered look, and she stared at him back, an understanding dawning.
"Oh." She laughed. "You don't know. Of course, you don't know."
"Know what?"
Still laughing, she levelled her son with a mocking look. "Well, see for yourself."
"See what?"
Sirius repeated dumbly, and Harry had to admit, the whole conversation made little sense to him, too.
"The tapestry," was all she offered as an explanation.
A few long moments of confusion Sirius stared unblinkingly at the portrait before turning around and running up the stairs.
Harry followed after his godfather, only sparing a cursory glance at Walburga Black. He was curious about the portrait, but this could all wait. Upstairs, Harry had to stop and look around, tempted to go through a different corridor, to pursue the familiar thread of connection… it was beckoning him. This could wait too, he told himself, forcefully turning his back on it.
The room Sirius ran to had an entire wall dedicated to the family tree. The branches spread from the founder of ancient times, reaching across ages to the most recent names.
Taking a look over Sirius' shoulder, who stood completely frozen, Harry searched for those, spotting Walburga Black (1925–1985), Arcturus Black III (1901–1991), and Regulus Black (1961–1979).
Next to his brother was Sirius Black (1959–...), vivid and sharp, like he was never disowned. To the left, Lily Potter née Evans (1960–...), which meant she was definitely still alive, Harry briefly noted, before wondering what she was even doing here.
Underneath, connected to both names, Sirius and Lily, was another:
Leo Black (1982–...)