Harry spends Halloween riding high on his victory over Malfoy; he knows that this is enough. He could continue, of course, but in truth he doesn't want to truly humiliate Malfoy; he doesn't want to make him miserable. He just wants him to know that he doesn't have any sort of right to bother Harry any more, and that Harry is well willing to act in order to keep him in line. He thinks his point has been proven, and he intends to pass that on to the Weasley twins as soon as he next has a chance to speak with them. He considers trying to catch his Gryffindor friends, or even the Twins themselves, that afternoon, but he decides instead that he can leave it off for the next day—he takes the time instead to enjoy Quidditch practice and spend time with the team. A little bit to his surprise, he really does like the Quidditch team, flying with them and making jokes. Flint is still taciturn and abrupt, but he's also very good at spotting weaknesses in their flying and pointing them out and giving advice on how to improve. Pucey is close with Flint—really more like a follower than a friend, but it doesn't matter; he doesn't talk much with Harry. Montague, the third Chaser, spends most of his time with them. That make sense well enough to Harry—it isn't especially surprising how much friendships in Slytherin can fall along political lines, and the Pucey Family is vassal to Flint. Montague isn't, but they are vassal to Nott, and Lords Nott and Flint get along pretty well; Theo had mentioned Flint by name once or twice, as they'd met several times growing up.
The other three members of the team are all more openly friendly to Harry. Lucian Bole seems fairly neutral on Harry himself, but he's friends with Peregrine Derrick, who's friends with Higgs, so after practice he often joins Harry in walking back to the castle, especially if Higgs or Warrington or both have come to watch. And then there's Miles Bletchley, who's a strange fellow at best; he's in the same year as Gemma, Higgs, and the rest of them, but he's not really in their group of friends. And, Harry remembers, Bletchley is one of the strange stubborn Houses whose vassalage is holding the House of Prince in its Ancient and Noble status. He'd offered to help tutor Harry if he's ever having trouble in Potions after the first Quidditch practice, to Harry's surprise; it was rare that anyone in Slytherin was ever openly nice. But Bletchley—Miles—is, sort of. Just weird.
They all love to fly and play Quidditch, of course, and they play other flying games and they josh each other gently and they, even just over the course of October, have welcomed Harry into their fold. He loves to fly too, and he likes flying with them in particular, not least because all of them are fairly impressed with some of the tricks he can pull on his Nimbus, even if they sometimes seem shocked by his daring. Miles had called him their "Gryffindor in green" after a particularly risky dive to catch a practice Snitch once, and it had sort of stuck. Now, whenever Harry does something especially flashy, it comes up again.
It feels good to spend an afternoon flying and enjoying his sense of triumph. The team doesn't say anything about the morning's standoff with Malfoy, but he receives more shoulder-pats and "Good work, Potter"s from his teammates as they head to the locker room after practice than usual. It makes him smile, and the smile is enough to last him through to the Halloween Feast that evening. He eats roasted pumpkin and spaghetti and afterwards gorges himself on treacle tart and chocolate and apple slices dipped in caramel, and flings candy corn at Theo across the table. He and his friends laugh openly and make merry and ignore Malfoy, who's stopped stinking but is definitely sulking, with Parkinson fawning over him partway down the table from them. The hall is bright and filled with joy and joking, and this time no one bursts in to announce the arrival of a troll, though halfway through the meal the floating jack-o-lanterns do start spitting pumpkin seeds at everyone, causing brief pandemonium before the teachers and prefects are able to whip out their wands and put a stop to it. Everyone who'd ducked for cover emerges, and laughter reigns. It's wonderful.
It's not quite enough that Harry doesn't remember on the walk back to the common room that on this night, 11 years ago, his parents had been tortured into insanity. He sobers abruptly, and Theo pauses in telling a story in order to say, "Harry?"
Harry tries a smile. "Sorry. Keep on, Theo, I'm fine."
"Clearly not," Theo says.
"Share with the class," Blaise drawls from Harry's other side. "Come along, Potter."
Harry sighs. "Just… remembered my parents, all of a sudden."
Both of his friends go solemn too. "Sorry, Harry," Theo murmurs.
"No, it's really fine. But… don't mind me if I'm up late tonight, is all."
"Not at all," Blaise says, and reaches out to touch Harry's shoulder very briefly. "Let us know if there's anything we can do, hm?"
Harry nods, and this time musters a more genuine smile. He's got good friends, really. "Sure thing," he says. "Now come on, finish that story, Theo—I want to know what your aunt did with the giant head."
"Right," Theo says. His cheer as he launches back into the story is somewhat forced at first, but eventually he relaxes, and
Harry relaxes with him. Not entirely, because now that he's remembered, he can't forget again so easily. Once they get back to the dorm, he considers sneaking out under the Cloak to go see Sirius, but decides that that would probably be bad idea. Even aside from the rulebreaking, he isn't sure that he'd be welcome. He doesn't know what rituals Sirius has for his lingering grief, and Harry doesn't want to intrude where he hasn't been invited. So he stays down in his dorm, lying awake well past midnight, and thinks of his parents.
They hadn't visited during the summer, though Harry had considered asking to go. As with tonight, however, he hadn't wanted to inflict his own feelings about his parents onto Sirius and Remus. They'd had a long time to get used to the fact that James and Lily Potter as they'd known them were gone, and since they didn't seem to visit often, Harry reckons they'd decided to try to let go a little. It hadn't felt like his place to ask to go, if that were the case. And anyway… they're his parents, yes, but he doesn't really remember them. The most he remembers, if it is a real memory at all and not just his mind making nightmares, is the screaming that he sometimes dreams of, and that he can deal with on his own—Sirius and Remus don't need to know, and don't need to have his problems put on them.
Eventually, Harry gets fed up with tossing and turning and tries to meditate instead, attempting to quiet his mind in the way Sirius had taught him. The first steps to Occlumency, he knows. And Occlumency is supposed to help control dreams, prevent nightmares. He can't wait to get to that stage, and is thinking wistfully of being able to sleep entirely without fear of what his dreams might hold even as he finally drifts off, sometime in the early hours of the morning.
He wakes in the morning feeling exhausted, having slept past when he'd usually get up to run, but at least he'd done something right with his meditation last night—he'd expected nightmares of his parents, but had none. It's a relief, honestly, and though it's clear that both Theo and Blaise notice the dark bags under Harry's eyes from his late night, he's also able to offer both of them a genuine and reassuring smile. They all get ready together and head for breakfast, and when they arrive, Harry wonders for a moment if they'd woken earlier than he expected and come down early by accident, because half the staff table is empty, and there are large gaps at the Gryffindor table; all of his friends in that House are absent. But, no. The other House tables are as full as they usually are at his hour, and Professor Babbling, who's usually one of the last to arrive to breakfast, is already up at the staff table. It's just McGonagall, Snape, Dumbledore, and Sirius who are missing.
Harry frowns. Something is obviously wrong—something must have happened in Gryffindor last night, but he doesn't know what it could have been. He glances over at Theo and Blaise, and both of them are frowning as well. They find seats at the Slytherin table, but before Harry fills a plate, he heads further up the table to where Gemma is sitting.
"Gemma?" he says, and she glances over her shoulder, then turns slightly to look at him, her knees bumping against Hussain's, who's sitting close by her side.
"Harry," she says. "Yes, something's going on—I don't know what yet, exactly. Professor Snape just said we should try to avoid speculation until Dumbledore speaks to the school tonight."
Harry scowls. "Those are my friends who're missing from Gryffindor. You really don't know anything?"
She shakes her head, looking sorry about it. "Have breakfast, and go to class. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything, I promise."
"Fine." Harry sighs. "Sorry for being rude about it."
"I get it," she says. "They're your friends, as you said. Try not to worry."
Harry rolls his eyes, because that's not likely, but he does as she says. No point arguing—she wouldn't lie to him about not knowing anything, he trusts that much. He passes on what little he knows to Blaise and Theo when he's back at his place, and repeats it to Millicent when she joins them a little while later. He can only hope that Dumbledore will say something soon, because if not, he's going to go looking for his friends himself.
His worry only intensifies when he and his yearmates head to Defence after Charms that morning and find a note pinned to the classroom door: Class is cancelled today. Go play tag, or read over Chapter 4 of your text, or something. I couldn't care less; just don't wreck the place. —Prof. Black
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Harry mutters, staring at the note. Sirius's handwriting is more slanted than usual, looking rushed. Something had definitely happened, either last night or early this morning, and he wants to know what. "I'm going to go check the Hospital Wing."
"The Hospital Wing?" Blaise says, catching up with Harry as he turns and starts to walk away. "Wouldn't it be better to start with, I don't know, Professor Snape's office or some such?"
Harry shakes his head. "If it's as bad as cancelling class," he says, and jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the door and its note, "then someone's probably been hurt. And it was my friends missing from the Gryffindor table this morning, and my godfather dealing with it, obviously. I'm not going to let the Headmaster keep me in the dark if someone I care about's been injured." Or killed. But he doesn't say that; doesn't want to say it and somehow make it true.
It's not far from the Defence classroom to the Hospital Wing, which Harry suspects might have been by design; the only other class with as much potential for injury is Potions—and perhaps Flying, but Flying classes have to take place outdoors. Of course last year their Defence classes mostly involved theory, but there have already been a few minor mishaps this year—bruises and twisted ankles and such. Sirius has had them play hide-and-go-seek out in the halls, and practice the Knockback Jinx, and so on; any practical magic directed toward another person has the potential to harm them. It's something Sirius had drilled in beginning right at the start of term: any time you point your wand at someone, you should be prepared for something bad to happen to them.
Harry can only wonder what might have happened to his friends. Had the twins gone for a last-hurrah prank before they gave up the Map, and something had gone wrong? That doesn't seem possible. Only last night, after all, there had been that thing with the pumpkins; he's sure that was them. It must have been after the Feast, whatever happened, and Harry doesn't think they'd do anything truly dangerous inside of the Gryffindor common room. But then what? He wracks his brain for any potential answers as he strides toward the Hospital Wing, sure that his stormy thoughts must be showing on his face but not caring. His friends are behind him—Blaise and Theo, and Millicent had tagged along too—and he knows they won't judge him for his concern.
The double doors that lead to the Hospital Wing are shut when they arrive, and when Harry tries to open them, he finds them locked.
"The Hospital Wing is never locked," Blaise says, disbelieving, and tries one of the doors himself—but it still doesn't budge.
Harry is just drawing his wand to attempt an Unlocking Charm, which he'd never performed but Sirius had taught him the incantation for, when there's a click, and the door slides open a few inches to reveal Madame Pomphrey, peering out at them. When she sees them, she sighs. "Is one of you injured, dears?"
Harry shakes his head. "I want to know what's happened to my friends."
"I thought as much." She sighs again, then says. "A moment. I'll ask the Headmaster if you're to be allowed in."
"Wait—" But the door is already closing, and Harry fails the catch the handle before it's shut and locked once more. "Bugger."
"I'm sure the Headmaster will let you in," Theo says. "I don't really see why they're being so secretive about it."
Harry scowls. "The Headmaster likes being secretive. And… and if it's anything to do with…"
Blaise and Theo exchange a startled glance. "Oh," Theo says.
"Sirius is in there too," Harry says. "He was helping with, uh, the whole thing." Then he glances over at Millicent, who's giving him a surly look; she doesn't know, he remembers, and he doesn't want to drag her into this.
Millicent reaches over and punches Harry in the shoulder.
"Ouch!" Harry says, his hand flying up to rub at the spot. "Bloody hell, Millicent."
"Don't keep secrets," she insists. "Either tell me or don't, but don't be obtuse right in front of me, you prat."
"Sorry," Harry says. He glances around; there's no one else in the halls around them right this moment, but this really isn't a good place. "Look… if I tell you much more, you're not going to be able to stay properly neutral. Even if you play it that way—"
"I'll have to choose a side." Millicent sighs. "Fine. No, you're right—for now I don't want to know. But you'll tell me the second I need to know, got it, Potter?"
"Of course." Harry makes a shallow bow. "Maybe you should go back to the common room, for now. If the sixth-years don't have class, find Gemma or Higgs and let them know what's going on?"
"Alright." Millicent looks one more time at the doors of the Hospital Wing, and then says, "Good luck with your friends, Harry. For what it's worth, I hope no one's seriously hurt."
"Me too," he says, and waves to her as she leaves. Then he turns back to the doors and waits.
It feels like ages before something happens, and Harry has started considering the Unlocking Charm again when finally the door swings open properly. It's not Madame Pomphrey on the other side this time, however; it's Sirius. He looks grim.
"What happened?" Harry demands immediately.
"Come inside," Sirius says, which isn't an answer, but at least he lets Harry in. He gives Theo and Blaise both a narrow look, and then just shakes his head and allows them in as well when they seem determined to follow.
Sirius pauses just inside the doors to the Hospital Wing and closes them again, and then turns to Harry. "How did you guess?" he asks.
"You, Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were all missing at breakfast," Harry says. "And all of my friends. It wasn't exactly subtle that something had happened, Sirius. Is everyone okay?"
"No," Sirius says bluntly. "Several of your friends have been injured. One of them, very badly."
"Who?"
"Ron Weasley."
Harry looks down, relieved and ashamed of his relief. He couldn't help but be glad that it hadn't been Neville or Hermione, who were both better friends than Ron, but… Ron had gotten a lot better since the beginning of first year, and he was still Harry's friend too, even if he was a more distant friend. "What happened?" Harry asks his shoes.
"Harry," Sirius says. Harry looks up, and Sirius places a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be alright, in time. He and your other friends were attacked last night by a servant of Voldemort."
"What?" Theo says, at the same time as Blaise demands, "How did he get into the castle?"
Harry would very much like to know the same. He gives Sirius a steely look, and Sirius twists his lips wryly.
"He was already here," Sirius says, and then sighs. "It's complicated. Look, come in, see your friends. I'll explain it all to you in a little while."
"Alright," Harry says quietly. "But you will tell me, right?"
Sirius nods. "I think Dumbledore would prefer that you all be kept in the dark about the whole mess as long as possible, but frankly I think that's a fabulous way to get you all killed, if things keep going the way they have been. And of course you'll be welcome to pass the information on to your friends—I trust your discretion." He looks up at Blaise and Theo then, and he says, "As for the two of you, I hope you both are clear on the fact that this means I am trusting your discretion, as well. For now, I will ask that you not come the rest of the way into the Hospital Wing—these are not your friends, unless I am very mistaken about the state of affairs, and Dumbledore was uncertain enough about just letting Harry in. But I know he will fill you in later, and I believe that you will be wise in the way you treat the information. Mr. Zabini, I know your mother is a perfect neutral, and if you are smart you will follow in her footsteps. And Mr. Nott… well, Harry's spoken to me about you and your deal with him. Perhaps, once things have settled down a little, you might come visit me in my office and we can have a chat of our own."
Harry looks over his shoulder in time to see Theo swallow visibly, and then he says, "Yes, sir."
Sirius smiles. "Good. Now, you two, head back to Slytherin, yes? Try not to gossip too much before you know the official line. And Harry, with me. Friends to see, boo-boos to kiss, etcetera." He waits until Blaise and Theo are gone, with a flick of his wand re-locks the Wing, and then waves Harry after him along the line of beds in the Hospital Wing until they reach the end of the row, where three beds have been curtained off from view of the rest of the Wing. Sirius sweeps aside the curtains on the first to reveal that sitting on the nearer bed is one of the Weasley twins. He's sitting up, but under the sheets, and his face is pale beneath his freckles. He's involved in a quiet conversation with his twin, who's sitting on a chair next to the bed; also present is the youngest Weasley, the girl, whose name Harry thinks is Ginny. All three of them look up when Sirius parts the curtain, and upon seeing Harry both of the twins brighten somewhat.
"Harry!" they say together, and then the one in the bed cringes a little. Ginny immediately turns to him and fusses with his pillow, while his twin makes a makeshift bow from his sitting position and continues, "So good to see you, old chap. Nice of you to visit, and all."
"Yeah," Harry says. "Good to see you too, erm. Fred?"
"That one's George," Ginny says, pointing to the one in the chair. "The idiot is Fred."
"Oy," says Fred.
"Rude," says George.
Harry tries on a smile for them. "Are you two alright?"
"Well enough," they say in unison.
"Fred is an idiot," George says. "Nearly bloody well got himself killed, all for that stupid Map."
"The Map?" Harry asks, flicking a look up at Sirius. He doesn't seem surprised by the mention, but then he surely knows more of the story of whatever's been going on than Harry does. "What about it?"
"S'pose you haven't heard the whole tale just yet," George says. "It's a doozy. Maybe… maybe we'll let Professor Black tell you, yeah? Go see Ron and Neville first—sure they'd appreciate it."
"Okay," Harry says cautiously. "But… did something happen to the Map?"
Fred shakes his head. "Took an Incendio straight to the chest for it," he says, gesturing at himself, "but it's fine."
"And so is he," George adds, "thank Merlin."
Harry bites his lip. An Incendio? Whoever the agent of Voldemort was, he'd been trying to destroy the Map? That made sense, but only if the person knew what it was on sight, and if the twins had been telling the truth about it, it'd been locked in a drawer in Filch's office since Sirius and Harry's dad and Remus had been at school themselves, not long after it'd been made. And Fred had, what, jumped in the way of the spell? Bloody hell.
But he'd ask them more questions later, he reassures himself. They are fine; there'd be time. So he follows his Sirius over to the next set of curtains. These, once drawn back, reveal Neville. He's by himself, unlike Fred, and he jerks himself up to sitting when the curtains draw back, only to relax when he sees it's Harry and Sirius, though he remains upright. There's a bandage wrapped around his forehead, and another stuck to his cheek.
"Is it stupid to be very glad to see you?" Neville asks, as Harry steps into the enclosure of curtains to sit down in a chair by Neville's bedside.
"No," Harry says. Awkwardly, he reaches out and pats Neville's arm. "Glad you're okay, mate."
"Me too," Neville says. "I think… I really think it was a close one."
"What happened? Sirius hasn't told me anything yet," Harry says.
Neville looks down at his lap. "Ron's rat was Peter Pettigrew."
Harry's mouth drops open, and then he hisses, "What?" so harshly that for a moment he wonders if he's slipped into Parseltongue—but no, the language of snakes just sounds like English, not like the painful dragging syllable that just escaped him.
Sirius comes up beside Harry and places a hand on his shoulder again, and says gently, "You don't need to tell the story, Neville; I'll tell him."
"No," Neville says. "It's okay—I mean, unless you want to, or—"
"It might be easier coming from you," Sirius murmurs. "I'll give you two a moment."
"Thanks," Neville says. Sirius leaves, closing the curtain behind himself, and Neville clears his throat, looking at Harry nervously. Harry isn't sure what's on his face, but all of his guts feel like they've been turned inside out all of a sudden, the bile that was in his stomach now on the outside, an acid burn in his belly. "Harry…"
"What happened, Neville?"
Neville takes a deep, slow breath, and he twists the sheets in his lap between his fingers for a long minute before he says, "Well, after we got back from the Feast last night, me and Ron and Seamus and Dean all decided to go back to our dorm and play cards. We, um, we wanted to stay up until midnight—you know, Halloween, witching hour, whatnot. Seamus and Dean wanted to tell scary stories, but I asked them not to, because… because you know."
Harry nods. He does know. Neville had probably been feeling the same way he himself had last night.
"Right," Neville says. He twists the sheets again, clears his throat. "Well, we were playing cards, like I said. And then all of a sudden, Ron's brothers sort of… showed up. They didn't really burst in, they just… came in. And they asked if they could see Scabbers—Ron's rat, you know.
"Ron said no, of course." Neville shrugs. "It's the twins. I'd've said no too. But then… there we were—they wouldn't give up on it. Insisted that they needed him, and they said Ron could come with them and everything. Eventually, Ron said fine, whatever—he'd let them take Scabbers, but he was going to come too. And I said I'd go along."
"Okay," says Harry. "So… then what?"
"I… I don't really know," Neville says. "Well, I know. Ron went and got Scabbers out from under the bed. And then he… the rat, I mean, he took one look at the twins, and he just… he turned into a man. A person."
Harry swallows, familiar with the suddenness of the Animagus transformation from having seen Sirius do it many times. "Pettigrew," he says hoarsely.
"Yeah. Though we didn't really know that at the time. He just… he was suddenly just there, in the middle of the dorm. He looked sort of rat-ish still, y'know? Like, scraggly sideburns a bit like whiskers, big front teeth. Maybe because he was a rat for so long… but that doesn't matter. He—he grabbed Ron's wand off his bedside table and he pointed it at George—no, at… something George was holding, like a scrap of parchment? And he cast an Incendio. Fred was… he got in the way, and all his robes and everything caught fire, and he was—he was shouting, screaming. I…"
Harry reaches out and places his hand over Neville's hands, which are gripping the sheets so hard that his knuckles have gone white. "It's okay," Harry says softly. "I mean. It's not, but I'm here."
"Thanks," Neville whispers. "Anyway. Then… Pettigrew, he pointed his wand at me. And Ron moved, came to stand between me and him. I… Pettigrew told him to get out of the way. But he wouldn't. He said 'You'll have to go through me if you want to hurt Neville' and… and he did."
Harry swallows. "What happened?"
"He cast some sort of curse. Ron screamed, and then he just collapsed. And I think Pettigrew was going to curse me too, but then… Percy burst in, probably because of all the shouting, and a bunch of other people were right behind him. Pettigrew, I think he decided to cut his losses. He threw a blasting curse at the door, and it exploded—I was standing right next to it, and some pieces hit me, and I fell and hit my head… But I'm okay now! Still, it was enough of a distraction—Pettigrew was just gone. He… we think he turned back into a rat and ran. Everyone was too worried about Fred and Ron and me to go look for him right then, and by the time all the professors showed up, and Dumbledore and Professor Snape cast some sort of thing on Ron, and Sirius was done making sure Fred wasn't on fire and George had him… it was too late."
"So he got away," Harry says. He feels… he doesn't know what he feels. A lot, and also nothing.
"Yeah," Neville says. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. It isn't your fault."
"I know. But I'm still sorry."
Harry realizes that he's still got his hand over Neville's, that their hands are clasped together now, and he's holding on so tightly that he must be crushing Neville's fingers. "Sorry," he says, and with conscious effort manages to relax his grip. Neville doesn't let him go entirely, though, so Harry sits there for a while longer, trying to draw some comfort from the contact. It's not enough—not enough against the fact that the man who betrayed his parents to Lord Voldemort, who was once their friend and became responsible for their torture and insanity, was in the school. Was so close—Harry had touched Scabbers, seen him a number of times. For a brief moment, Harry thinks he's going to be sick, but a deep breath and the nausea passes, leaving him… hollow. And furious.
"Right," he says, and pulls away from Neville. "Well. Don't worry about it too much, Neville—Pettigrew isn't going to get away with hurting you and Fred and Ron, because if I ever see him, I'm going to kill him."
Neville looks at Harry, his face pale, and says, "I… I believe you. And I'll help you if I can. Just don't get hurt."
"I won't," Harry says, his tone fierce. "I'll get strong enough that no one could hurt me, especially not some half-baked betrayer like Pettigrew, and then I'll bloody well kill him."
"Harry," says Sirius, from the edge of the curtain enclosure. Harry hadn't noticed him drawing back the curtains once more, and when he looks up, Sirius looks even grimmer than before. "Harry—"
"You'll help me, right?" Harry says. "Because I swear, Sirius—"
"I'll help you," Sirius says. There are deep lines around his eyes, his mouth; he looks older than he ever has before. "But first, come see the last of your friends, hm? You can sit with Neville a while longer later."
"Okay," Harry says, and rises. He glances at Neville once more, and says, "I'll be back."
"Okay, Harry," Neville says. He's returned to twisting the sheets. "See you later."
"Later, Neville." Harry follows Sirius out of Neville's cubicle, and Sirius draws the curtains shut again, then turns and wraps Harry in a hard hug, almost too tight.
"Sirius?" Harry asks, his voice muffled by Sirius's chest. He returns the hug, baffled.
"I didn't want this to happen to you," Sirius says. He sounds choked up, on the verge of tears almost. "I didn't want any of this for you. I wanted to protect you from it."
"Sirius," Harry says, squeezes his godfather tight, and then pulls away so that he can look up into Sirius's stricken face. "It's okay."
"It's not," Sirius says. "You're a kid. You shouldn't be swearing yourself to a fucking revenge quest."
Harry blinks at the profanity. "You can't expect me to be okay with this," he says.
"Of course not. Of course not. But I expect you to be able to rely on me and the other adults who are around you, who care for you, to protect you. You shouldn't be taking the weight of the war on your shoulders."
"The weight of the war is on all of our shoulders," Harry says, as firmly as he can, although Sirius's emotion has shaken him. He doesn't know what to say, how to make it better, because what Sirius wants is something Harry just can't give him. He can't not promise to put an end to the rat-bastard who betrayed his parents and has now reappeared to harm his friends. He wants, even though he knows it's a wrong thing to wish for, to see Peter Pettigrew die. He wants Pettigrew to be gone, so that he can't ever hurt anyone Harry cares about ever again.
Sirius just looks down at him with this… expression, like he's overwhelmed. He looks so sad. "You're right," Sirius says. "You are right. But leave the killing to us adults for now, alright, pup? Let yourself be a kid a while longer, before you have to be a warrior."
"But you'll still teach me," Harry says. "Right?"
Sirius sighs. "Yes. I'll still teach you. You at least need to be able to protect yourself, and it's clear that what you've learned so far isn't going to be enough."
"Neville, too?"
At that, Sirius makes a more thoughtful face, and hums a little. "I'll speak to Dumbledore—it's not a bad idea. And might make him feel a little more secure, after the scare he's had." Sirius reaches out and ruffles Harry's hair. "You're a good kid, you know."
"Whatever," Harry replies, and swats the hand away before it can make any more of a mess of him. "Love you, Sirius."
Sirius smiles. Small, still tainted by the sadness of before, but real. "Love you too, Harry. Now, let's go see the other Mr. Weasley."
Harry nods and follows Sirius to the last set of curtains. These part to reveal Ron, lying pale and still in a hospital bed, and Hermione, her face tearstained and her hair frazzled, falling out of the ponytail she'd tried to contain it to. She leaps from her chair when she sees Harry and launches herself at him; he manages to catch her in a hug with a huff, and holds her tight as she bursts into tears.
"Oh, Harry!" she cries, and he pats her back a little awkwardly. "Harry, it's so awful."
"I guess you heard what happened," Harry says. He ends up with a bit of her hair in his mouth, but he gamely spits it out and lets her continue to cry into his shoulder.
"It's so terrible," she says. "That man! And—and look what he did to Ron! And, did you already see Neville? And the twins? Oh, Harry."
Harry pats her again, and says, "I know, Hermione, I saw them. It's okay, uh. I mean, it'll be okay."
"I know," she says, with a great sniffle. She pulls away, still clutching his arms, and then lets him go entirely to wipe the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands, the gesture unexpectedly childish. "I know, but…"
"Yeah," Harry says. He scrounges around in his pocket and after a moment produces a handkerchief, which he hands over. Hermione uses it to wipe her face and blow her nose, and then pulls out her wand to clean it with a muttered spell before handing it back.
"Cheers," she says, still sounding tearful, but at least no longer weeping. "Come on, come sit with Ron a minute. I… well, muggles think people in comas can hear when you talk to them. I'm sure he'd appreciate it."
"Er, okay," Harry says. "Sure." He follows Hermione over to the bed and waves for her to retake the seat, then hovers beside the bed and says, "Hullo, Ron. Sorry about… all this. I know it's not my fault, but it still sucks that you got hit with…"
"Some sort of curse," Hermione offers. "No one would say what, exactly, but I don't think it's anything easy, or he'd surely be awake by now."
Harry nods. "I reckon he'll be better soon, Hermione," he says, and places a hand on her shoulder. She sniffles a little and leans into his touch, her eyes fixed on Ron, whose skin is pasty beneath his freckles. It's strange to see him so still—he has an animated face, an easy smile (or scowl, depending on the circumstances), and it bothers Harry to watch him lie there, breathing shallowly. After a while, he looks away.
"I think… maybe I should go," Harry says. "D'you want me to bring you a book?"
"Oh, I have one," Hermione says.
"Right," Harry says. That's good. At least something is right in the world, if Hermione has a book. "I'll try to come back and visit soon."
"Okay." Hermione pats the hand that Harry still has resting on her shoulder, and he lets go and steps away, headed back to where Sirius is standing.
Sirius closes the curtains again behind them, and says to Harry, "What do you want to do?"
Harry shrugs. "I… maybe I'll go sit with Neville. He seemed lonely."
"Alright," Sirius says. "I'll have you excused from the rest of your classes today. And tomorrow… come to my office after dinner, alright? We're going to get you started on learning the next steps to Occlumency; you can't wait any longer."
Harry hugs Sirius then, allows himself to cling for a minute like a little kid, and then lets go and says, "Thanks, Sirius."
"Don't thank me, Harry," Sirius says. He bends to kiss Harry's forehead, brushing his messy hair out of the way to do it, and then shoes Harry past the pale blue hospital curtains and into Neville's cubicle, so that he can spend the remainder of the afternoon sitting with his friend.
They spend the day mostly making small talk, trying to distract each other. Harry talks about Quidditch practice and the Slytherin team, and they talk about the novel Neville's been reading, and then Harry reads some passages from their textbooks to Neville and talks about the homework assignment from Charms. Then, offhand, he mentions that Sirius is planning to step up his Occlumency training.
At that, Neville swallows hard. "How's that been going?" he asks, tentative.
"I don't really know," Harry says. "Sirius has really only had me meditating, still. For Occlumency and the Animagus transformation, you know."
"Yeah," Neville says. He looks nervous. "Look, Harry… Over the summer, we did some learning together, but… if Dumbledore doesn't agree to train me more, will you… will you help me?"
Harry blinks a little. "Of course," he says, surprised Neville had even needed to ask. "Anything you need. And… I mean, I don't know for sure, but I reckon Sirius would teach you on the down-low even if Dumbledore says no. We need to be able to protect ourselves, especially you—this whole thing only proves it."
Neville lets out a sigh of relief, slumping back into his pillows a bit. "Thanks, Harry," he says. "I mean… I knew you'd say yes—you're a good friend."
"You, too, Neville," Harry says. "I want both of us to survive what's coming."
"Me too." Neville looks down at his hands, and impulsively Harry reaches out and grabs one of them again, holding it tight when Neville looks up again, startled. "Harry?"
"I promise," Harry says. "I don't know why Voldemort wants to kill you so bad, but I'm not going to let him if there's anything I can do to stop it."
"I don't want you getting yourself killed to help me, either," Neville says. There's a hint of that hidden spine of his in his statement, and he fixes Harry with a stare, iron in his brown eyes. "I don't want you doing what Ron did—it's not worth it to me, okay? I'm not worth that."
"You are," Harry says, "but okay. I'm a Slytherin; I'm not going to get myself killed doing something stupid."
"But you might get yourself killed if you think it's worth it, and please, it's not," Neville says. "Really. Just… I think both of us have lost enough already to stupid Voldemort and his stupid war, okay? Okay?"
"Okay," Harry says, and puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I won't, I won't. Anyway, I reckon the thing to do is to get good enough at magic that even doing something stupid wouldn't get us killed, right? Then we can do as many stupid things as we want."
Neville snorts. "I'm not sure that's how it works, but I'm with you on getting better at things. Wandless magic, right?"
"Yeah." Their pact from the summer stands: both of them intend to master at least one wandless spell before the end of the school year. They'd been talking about it on occasion, but they were rarely alone, and they'd tacitly decided to keep this little project to themselves. Ron would probably be weird and jealous about it, them having their own thing, and of course Hermione would insist on helping, which might be worse—both Harry and Neville want to do this themselves. They haven't had much time to work on it anyway; the beginning of term was always weirdly busy, as if the professors had forgotten over the summer how much work was reasonable, or perhaps as if the student had forgotten how long it took to write an essay.
They had at least managed to choose which spell they would work on. Neville had decided that he wants to be able to put out or light a candle, which would hopefully let him work up to a proper wandless Incendio or Lumos. Harry, of course, had been somewhat more ambitious in his choice: he'd picked Finite Incantatem. Useful in basically any situation, he'd decided, and maybe not as hard as it seemed—from what Sirius had said over the summer about wandless magic, it was difficult because of the amount of control it took to cast most spells, not the amount of power. Finite Incantatem could be cast without very much control at all, if you didn't mind cancelling every minor magical effect in the room. But if Harry were desperate enough to be casting a wandless Finite, he reckons it wouldn't matter much how controlled it is.
"Wandless magic and Occlumency," Neville sighs. "Bloody hell. We sound mad—half of grown wixen can't do this stuff! And we're twelve!"
"Because they don't bother trying to learn," Harry says. "And they don't have the motivation we have. We're trying not to die, Neville; I reckon we've got the motivation to do what it takes."
"No kidding." Neville rubs his forehead, his fingers brushing over the lightning bolt scar there—it's never covered by his fringe, and at this point Harry has really stopped seeing it. But sometimes, like now, he's all too aware of the lingering mark of Voldemort's attack on his friend.
"We're going to get this," Harry says, determined. "And we're going to survive this war."
Neville looks up, and then he offers his hand to shake. "We're going to survive."
Harry takes Neville's hand, solemn, and they shake. Neville's fingers are trembling slightly, and Harry knows he's gripping too hard, but that's something to worry about later: they've made one another a promise, and no matter what Sirius says, Harry doesn't care what he has to do to keep it. Neville is his friend, and they are going to get through this, even if Harry has to kill Voldemort himself.