THE STARS ARE DIFFERENT HERE

Chapter Seven: A Long Overdue Reunion

"I wasn't able to speak with him directly," Professor McGonagall explained that evening as Harry paced her office, too excited to sit. "He instead relayed a message. He's on his way, and expects to be back in the country by Halloween at the latest."

"Halloween?" Harry paused, aghast. "That's nearly a month from now!"

"I'm well aware. Unfortunately, as an escaped convict, Black is limited when it comes to transportation options, particularly from Yugoslavia."

"Yugoslavia? I thought he was in Albania."

"He was. It seems at some point in the past year he crossed the border and has since been sheltering in Montenegro."

Harry grunted in frustration and finally forced himself to take a seat, though he drummed his fingers on his knee all the while. "He's definitely coming back, then?"

"He claims to be. I believe him." Professor McGonagall paused. "The message I sent him was that I believed fully in his innocence. I also told him his godson was here via the same route he took. I imagine that did more to sway him than the former bit."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hardly able to believe it was true. Despite his nervousness, he found himself smiling.

"It's good news," Professor McGonagall agreed. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. We'll do everything we can for him, and then some."

The days moved by at a crawl. Harry's brain seemed to bounce off the walls of his skull as he sat in class and anticipated reuniting with Sirius, but he was always able to answer the questions lobbed at him by his professors, assuaging any concerns of daydreaming.

"You always know the answers!" Hermione said, almost accusingly, after Double Charms one afternoon. "Even when you aren't paying attention!"

Harry shrugged. "I'm quick on my feet." It was an easier explanation than his coursework being far simpler than the O.W.L.s he'd spent nearly a year preparing for. "Besides, your marks are better than mine."

He didn't add that this was because he always answered a question or two incorrectly on his homework and exams. He didn't want the attention that came with being the best in his class; Hermione more than deserved that distinction. After all, Harry had an unfair advantage, given it was her first time learning the material.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Malfoy said one evening, coming to a stop next to Harry and Nott, who'd just finished a game of Gobstones.

"D'you mean that time you called my mum a Mudblood?" Harry asked flatly as he helped Nott return the marbles to their leather case. "If you call that the wrong foot, I suppose we did, yeah."

Malfoy grimaced. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, Potter. I hope you'll forgive me."

Harry didn't reply straight away, trying and failing to think of a time Malfoy had ever said he was sorry in their past life. "Did Snape put you up to this?"

"No. I just wanted to clear the air between us." Malfoy extended a hand, adding, "I really am sorry, Potter."

Harry didn't believe him for a second, but the last thing he needed was to make even more of an enemy of Draco Malfoy than he already had. Besides, the Dursleys had turned out to be not nearly as bad in this world. Perhaps Malfoy was the same- a git, but a penitent git. Swallowing every last bit of pride while reminding himself they had to share a house for the foreseeable future, he quickly shook Malfoy's hand.

"All right," he said. "I forgive you."

Malfoy simply smiled and nodded, and he was on his way.

"I don't trust him. Do you?" Harry muttered to Nott, starting to get to his feet.

"Potter, wait-"

It was too late. Harry fell, face first, onto the stone floor. When he tried to get back up, he found his shoelaces were tangled together in a convoluted knot.

"He hexed my laces together when I wasn't looking," he said incredulously, locking eyes with Malfoy, who smirked at him as he settled into an armchair near the fire. "The little bastard."

"Are you okay?" Nott peered at Harry's chin, which had been scraped but didn't appear to be bleeding. "Are you going to tell a prefect?"

"I'm fine." Harry set to work undoing his shoelaces by hand, determined not to let Malfoy see him react. It was what he wanted, and Harry wouldn't give him that satisfaction. "He isn't worth it."

That being said, Harry paused later that evening when he and Nott returned to their dormitory and found the second-years' bedroom uninhabited, the door ajar.

"Keep watch," Harry whispered to Nott, creeping over the threshold.

It was obvious which bed belonged to Malfoy. The enormous care package he'd received from home that morning (and loudly boasted about at breakfast) was displayed proudly at the foot of his trunk.

Harry tapped Malfoy's bedding with the tip of his wand, muttered and incantation, then hurried back into the corridor.

"What did you do?" Nott asked the moment they were safely back in their own dorm.

"Made his sheets and blankets as cold as ice." Harry grinned. "It'll wear off in a day, maybe two."

Nott laughed. "That's brilliant! But hang on- that's advanced magic, isn't it?"

"Not really." It was third-year level at best, but Harry was fairly certain he could have mastered it at eleven the last time around if he'd put some effort into it. "I learned it from a book in the library. I can teach you, if you'd like."

Nott's eyes brightened. "Yeah! Would you really?"

Malfoy stormed into the first-years' dormitory an hour later, as they were getting ready for bed.

"Change it back!" he snarled at Harry. "Change it back right now!"

"Change what back?" Harry stared at him, taking advantage of his younger appearance to look as naive and innocent as possible. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"My bed, you little dung beetle! How I am I supposed to sleep like this?"

"Did something happen to your bed, Malfoy?" Nott asked, his tone just as innocent, as Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini watched the proceedings from their own beds. "Would you like us to fetch Professor Snape? Maybe he can help."

"I'll fetch him myself!" Malfoy snapped. Rounding on Harry, he added, "And I'll tell him you- you froze it!"

"I froze your bed?" Harry asked, raising his inflection on the last word to sound especially incredulous. "I've only been learning magic for a month. How would I know a spell like that?"

"It's way too advanced for first-years," Nott agreed.

"I don't think a second-year could handle it, either," Zabini spoke up from his bed. "Besides, we all saw what you did to Potter in the common room. I think Professor Snape would care a lot more than the bruise on his chin than your cold bed."

"And I've been with Potter all evening," Nott went on. "He didn't go anywhere near your dorm. I'll vouch for him to Professor Snape if he asks."

Malfoy stared at the lot of them, fists clenched. Then he was gone, storming back toward his room, shouting for someone to help him unfreeze his bed. Harry and the other first-year boys listened in silence as the other second-years tried and failed to either do it themselves, or successfully recruit older students to help.

"If you weren't such a little shit, maybe you'd have better luck," Harry could hear Terence Higgs say, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

"Thanks," he said once he removed it, turning to both Nott and Zabini. "For backing me up."

"Of course," Nott said. "Malfoy needs to stop picking on people smaller than him."

"Slytherins stick together," Zabini agreed, returning to his book.

It was, Harry thought to himself as he climbed into bed, a rather Slytherin move. He hadn't thought of it that way in the moment, but getting back at Malfoy in a manner that didn't implicate himself was unlike his usual method- he thought of his old life, and imagined he probably would have just punched him in the nose. He'd done it before.

Was his new house rubbing off on him? Harry shuddered at the thought. He was still a Gryffindor, even if that damn hat had gone rogue when placing him.

"Wait a moment." Goyle stared at him from his bed, then turned to Crabbe. "Wait a moment."

Crabbe stared back. "Do you think...?"

They pondered over it for an excruciatingly long time, then Goyle's eyes lit up as he turned back to Harry. "You were lying! You did freeze Malfoy's bed!"

"And you both lied so he wouldn't get in trouble with Professor Snape!" Crabbe said triumphantly.

Nott burst out laughing, and even Zabini smiled and said, "Well done. You solved the impossible riddle."

Harry couldn't help but smile as well at how proud of themselves Crabbe and Goyle were by their deduction. He wasn't smiling nearly as much when their snores filled the dormitory with a sound not unlike a hippogriff in distress, much as they did every night.

Each weekend, Harry explored the castle, relearning its nooks and crannies. He often found new passageways and shortcuts, ones he did his best to keep track of. He hadn't known until now how reliant he'd become on the Marauder's Map (as well as his Invisibility Cloak), and it was nothing short of humbling to be thrust back to the very beginning without any advantages.

Harry often explored on his own, but other days he was joined by his classmates. Nott was excellent at discovering concealed alcoves and corridors. Zabini didn't frequently join them, but he'd occasionally tag along, observing more than speaking with a serious expression on his face.

Even Crabbe and Goyle asked if they could join now and then, and Harry was surprised to find this wasn't an entirely miserable experience. Although he suspected they collectively possessed a single brain cell that they exchanged every other week, they weren't actively malicious, especially given that they weren't attached to Malfoy at the hip. They could at least always be counted on to keep the mood lively, even if that meant enduring endless belching competitions. And really, as much as Harry hated to admit it, there had certainly been a belching competition or two in the Gryffindor's boys' dormitories, particularly during their younger years

Hermione seemed to prefer confining her exploration to the library, but she tagged along a time or two, reciting an endless litany of facts complied from Hogwarts, A History, resulting in glassy-eyed stares from everyone who wasn't (and occasionally was) Harry.

"Why did you invite her?" Nott asked as they made their way back to the common room one evening. "I can't see why you fancy her so much."

"I don't fancy her," Harry said, wishing there was a less revealing-secrets-of-cosmic-importance manner of saying Hermione was someone he'd grown up alongside, that she was like a sister to him. "It's possible to be friends with a girl without fancying her."

The boys all snorted, and Harry highly doubted they'd so much as held hands with a girl before. He reminded himself of the way he saw the world as a first-year, then resisted the urge to shake his head as he told himself the last thing he needed was to start thinking of the Slytherins first-years as younger brothers.

"He fancies her because she's the only person with higher marks than him," Zabini spoke up, shooting a rare sly smile in Harry's direction.

"Ahh." Nott grinned. "Braniacs attract."

"I'm definitely not a braniac," Harry reassured him, wondering whether or not he should start answering a few more questions incorrectly on his assignments than he already was. "Not the way she is."

"She's annoying," Crabbe said through a mouthful of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans. "But she's all right, I suppose."

"She's smart," Goyle offered. "Especially for a Mudblood."

"Don't call her that!" Harry said sharply, the other boys taking an involuntary step away at the intensity of his tone.

"What?" Goyle asked, bewildered. "She is one, isn't she?"

"She's Muggle-born," Harry said quickly. "And so what if she is?"

"Mudblood, Muggle-born, it's the same thing," Crabbe spoke up. "Why are you so angry?"

"It isn't," Harry said, then paused. As much as he wanted to tell the two of them to sod off and write them off as budding Death Eaters, there was a small part of him whispering- They're eleven.

And not just eleven in the way Harry had found himself, they were properly eleven. Harry remembered hearing their fathers' voices emerge from under masks in the graveyard at the end of his fourth year and wondered what it would be like to be raised by someone like that, and to have only just arrived at Hogwarts the month before.

Then he thought of what he had been told about his mother in this world, and the things Mrs. Greengrass had said on platform nine and three-quarters.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Carefully, he said, "That word- it's a really foul word to a lot of people. It's meant to hurt them. I know that... that some people don't like Muggles, or Muggle-born witches and wizards, but..."

"It's less important who you're born as, compared to who you become," Nott spoke up. He shrugged awkwardly. "That's what my cousins say, at least. They're sort of the black sheep in my family."

He glanced at Zabini for backup, who also shrugged. "My parents weren't a part of any of... that sort of thing. During the war, I mean. I don't think they like Muggles much, but I also don't think they've really met any. I've never really thought much about it, to be honest."

"All right. I didn't mean anything by it," Goyle said, frowning. "I just said she was smart for a Mudblood."

They didn't say much else on their way back to the common room, and later that night it took far longer for Crabbe's and Goyle's snores to fill the dormitory than it usually did.

"What was it like for my mum?" Harry asked the next time he sat in Professor McGonagall's office. "Being in Slytherin as a Muggle-born?"

Professor McGonagall frowned, seriously considering the question before answering. "She had a difficult time of it at first. She wanted to change everyone's minds, and she threw herself with an impossible amount of strength into that task. It didn't make her terribly popular, if I'm quite honest."

"But she was right," Harry said, frowning. "Blood supremacy and all that nonsense... it's rubbish, isn't it?"

The headmistress nodded. "I think so. You think so. But, Mr. Potter, have you ever changed someone's mind simply by telling them they're wrong? Or have they become more defensive as a result?"

"What was she supposed to do, then?" Harry asked. "Just put up with people hating her? What am I supposed to do when I hear people talk like that? If you just ignore it, and let it fester..." He shook his head. "That's how Slytherin turned out the way it did in my world."

"Certainly, don't ignore it," Professor McGonagall agreed. "One should never have to hide or be ashamed of who they are because of the bigotry of others. But, Mr. Potter, you must also understand that while it's important to stand for what is right, you won't be able to change everyone's mind. No one is capable of that." When Harry didn't respond, she paused for a moment, then went on. "My advice to you is to lead by example. Don't be ashamed to stand for your principles. But don't expect everyone to come around to them. If it were that simple, we'd live in a much different world. That's the conclusion your mother eventually came to, at least."

Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose. But I want to... save them all, if that makes sense. Make certain none of them grow up to be Death Eaters, you know?"

"You can certainly provide a line of thinking they haven't yet been exposed to," Professor McGonagall said gently. "But when it comes down to it, you can't make certain of that. It's a decision they'll have to make alone."

Harry gazed out the window, over the castle grounds and toward the Whomping Willow, thinking this over. Finally, he asked, "Have you heard anything from Sirius?"

"Not yet. But I hope very much to soon."

When Harry wasn't exploring the castle or spending time in the library with Hermione, he was flying on one of the ancient school brooms. The Shooting Stars, which seemed to be held together with an unstable blend of hope and dreams (and what looked suspiciously like Spellotape), couldn't hold a candle to his Firebolt, but he took what he could get.

He'd spend hours at a time circling the castle grounds. From up here it was easy to pretend nothing had changed and he was back in his old world, preparing for the next Quidditch match. Then his broom would jerk violently at the faintest suggestion of wind at the horizon, and Harry found himself once again in this strange mirror experience.

It was the weekend before Halloween when he spotted the dog. He wasn't sure what it was at first, just something large and dark. He peered at it curiously as he flew closer to the ground. Whatever it was, it seemed to be following the path of his broom. Harry drew closer and closer to the expanse of grass below him, and then he froze.

Padfoot.

He stared at the dog, who'd begun to frantically wag its tail, hardly able to believe it. He descended as rapidly as he could without toppling off the Shooting Star (which, given its limitations, was an achievement even when one remained perfectly still).

The dog turned and began to run off the moment Harry's feet touched the ground. He clutched the broom in one hand and jogged after it, glancing around, but there'd been a cold snap as of late and the majority of the castle's inhabitants had chosen to remain warm within its walls.

The dog veered to the right, and it occurred to Harry that it was heading toward the Whomping Willow.

"Wait!" he called out, and the dog stopped, turning abruptly. Harry jerked his head the other way- the Whomping Willow was closer to the forest now, something he'd discovered while flying around the grounds. The dog studied him for a moment, then took off in the direction Harry had indicated.

A wave of apprehension gripped him as they approached the massive tree. What if the knot was somewhere else? What if it didn't exist at all?

He didn't appear to be the only one with that thought. The dog dropped to its stomach, slinking carefully toward the familiar spot. Harry watched, one hand clenched around the broom and the other around the base of his wand as the tree's thick branches slowly came to life. They began to swing about, but before they could reach the ground they abruptly came to a halt. The dog's tail began to wag again as it shot Harry what could only be described as a triumphant look before turning and disappearing into the depths within.

The dog was further ahead; Harry hurried after it as quickly as he could, bent over double so his head didn't hit the top of the narrow tunnel. On and on they ran, until the ground began to slope upward and twist. They emerged into a room with peeling wallpaper and boarded up windows, one Harry had seen once before. And much like that last time, the dog wasn't itself anymore, but stretching upward into the shape of a man, into Sirius Black.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and before he knew it, he'd flung himself into his godfather's chest, the latter's thin arms embracing him almost instantly.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" he burst out, voice trembling.

"Never thought I'd see you again either." Sirius's voice was thick with emotion. "Not you, at least."

He released Harry from his grip and stepped back to look him over. He stared at him, expression unreadable. Then he began to laugh.

"What?" Harry asked, staring back at him, though he was smiling as well. "What's so funny?"

"You are. You're tiny!" Sirius threw back his head and laughed harder. "Look at you, a little first-year! I could scoop you up with one hand!"

"Shut it, why don't you?" But he was laughing now too, and before long they were both sitting on the dusty, rotting floorboards, catching their respective breaths.

"Poor sod, having to go through puberty again." Sirius stretched his legs, eyes closed. "That might be nearly as bad as landing in Azkaban a second time."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, sobering instantly. Sirius looked terrible. His cheeks were sunken, his frame even thinner than the last time they'd been in the Shrieking Shack together. "That must have been... well, I can't imagine. Not really."

Sirius shrugged, but when he opened his eyes he didn't quite meet Harry's gaze. "I wasn't there for long. I'm finished with being cooped up."

"You have no idea how many times I almost went looking for you," Harry said, his voice low. "I should have headed for Albania the moment I heard you were there."

"You would have had a rough go of it, given I left Albania last year."

"Yeah, I heard. Yugoslavia, was it?"

Sirius nodded. "Don't beat yourself up. How were you supposed to get there on your own? You aren't an Animagus. The Ministry would have swarmed the moment you left Surrey." He paused. "Besides, I've been here longer than you. When did you even come to?"

"June, I think. Maybe May. It's a bit hazy."

"That recently?" Sirius's voice rose in surprise. "Merlin, of course you haven't been crossing continents. I hardly knew my name at first, and that wasn't just because of the Dementors."

"It was like that for you too?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "Almost... almost as though the air was thicker than it should be?"

"And you were watching yourself from somewhere far away?" Sirius nodded. "It took me ages to get past it."

"Do you think it has something to do with our minds adjusting to... whatever this place is?"

"Haven't the faintest idea. Maybe." Sirius shifted backward so he could rest his head against a piece of broken furniture, something that might have once been a table. "I came to see you, you know. Before I went properly on the run."

"Back in Little Whinging, right before I hailed the Knight Bus? I remember."

Sirius shook his head. "Not there. Here. I knew how unhappy you'd been at the Dursleys, so I went to find you. I couldn't imagine it'd be a good life for you, on the run with me, but... I needed to know you would be safe."

"You met me?" Harry asked. "The... other me?"

Sirius nodded. "I cleaned myself up a bit. Not particularly well, but enough to keep you from running and screaming in the other direction. I found you as you were walking home from school one day. You were even tinier than you are now, believe it or not."

Harry felt a stab of unease each time Sirius referred to the other version of him as... well, himself. He remembered Aunt Petunia reacting the same way over the summer, and for the first time understood how strange it must feel to be referred to as the same person as a version of yourself you'd never met.

"I asked you if you were happy, about your life. You didn't say much, but you were cared for, I could see that much. I lingered around for another day or two as a dog, watched the Dursleys. They're prigs, but they're not the Dursleys you described."

"They're different here," Harry agreed. "They... don't like magic. But I think they're willing to understand that others might not feel that way."

"I figured as much. Anyway, I thought it over, and thought you'd be safer with them, especially since you didn't remember... well, any of it. Any of what we remember."

"So you went to Albania? To find Voldemort?" Harry's voice went low. "Did you find him?"

There was a faint noise, a creaking of floorboards. Harry and Sirius stiffened, and Sirius whipped out a wand that wasn't the one Harry remembered. "Homenum revelio!"

Nothing happened.

Sirius stayed very still, before trying a few more incantations. Once again, nothing happened.

"Sorry," he said, lowering his wand. "I don't like to take any chances."

"Of course you wouldn't." Harry glanced around the room, heart still pounding. "Whose wand is that?"

"Nicked it as I escaped Azkaban. I think it belonged to one of the newer inmates and hadn't been put with the other wands yet. Wasn't able to get my own this time, I'm afraid." Sirius frowned. "It's all right, but it's not as powerful as my wand."

Harry nodded, understanding what he meant. "You went to Albania first, then? Did you find... did you find Voldemort?"

"Yeah. I did." Sirius's face darkened. "Not straight away. Albania's bigger than you might think. But given enough time in those forests, and my interactions with the animals I came across... There was a place they all knew, a dark place in a certain forest where other animals met their deaths. I found him there, yeah."

Harry just stared at him, waiting for him to go on.

"He was pathetic. He's always been pathetic, but he wasn't even human. Didn't even have that mottled body you said he did in the graveyard- he hadn't been able to create that yet." Sirius gazed upward at the ceiling. "He was hardly even a spirit. When he saw me... he was happy."

"Did he know who you were?"

"Yes," Sirius said flatly. He looked at Harry now, but his gaze was somewhere far away. "Harry, there's something you need to know. Something about this world. About Pettigrew."

"He's dead," Harry said quietly. "I know that. He was blown to pieces, not just his finger."

Sirius nodded. "I made one other stop before I found you in Surrey. I went to the Burrow first."

"To find Scabbers," Harry finished for him. "But he wasn't there, because he was dead." He paused. "I've been telling myself he got the curse wrong. That he was caught in it when he blew up the Muggle street."

"Yeah. That's what I've been telling myself, too." Sirius's already raspy voice had gone even more hoarse. "It's easier than accepting that in this world..." He trailed off. "You need to understand that Voldemort greeted me like an old friend."

Harry didn't reply. He didn't know what to say.

Sirius shook his head, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Harry asked incredulously. "Look at me. Why are you sorry for what that other Sirius Black might have done? He might have been a rotter, but that doesn't mean you are."

"I can't bear sharing the same body as him." Sirius's expression darkened even further. "I'll never forgive him."

"Neither will I, but he's not here, is he?" Harry leaned forward, a fierce rush shooting through his body. "You are. What happened when you found Voldemort?"

Sirius hesitated. "I played along. Did what I had to, even if I hated it." He paused. "My plan was to do what Peter did. Help him build a rudimentary body. I wasn't certain I could kill him the way he currently was- he'd just continue to exist otherwise."

"That was risky," Harry breathed out.

"You're telling me. But Voldemort was impatient. He didn't want to wait to build a body. He wanted make his way back to England first, then create a body."

"How was he supposed to do that, if he didn't have a body?"

Sirius gave him a strange little smile, and Harry suddenly understood. "You mean- he wanted you to do what he did to Quirrell?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You didn't-" Harry looked him over nervously, half-expecting to find the Dark Lord's face peeking out from Sirius's sleeve.

"Don't be stupid. Of course I didn't." Sirius leaned back, shaking his head. "He'd have far too much power over me that way. That, and I wasn't certain how many of my true intentions he'd be able to sense from that vantage point. It was too intimate." He paused. "I considered it, though. If I knew for certain he wouldn't be able to control me, and that he wouldn't know what I really thought... I'd bring him back to England, help him build a rudimentary body, and then, the very moment he had one, I'd kill him once and for all."

"You might have died, though," Harry said. "If he figured out what you were up to. Quirrell died when Voldemort suddenly left his body. How do you know the same wouldn't have happened to you if he decided he wanted you dead?"

Sirius shrugged, trying to look casual but failing. "Oh, don't look at me like that. How many times have you rushed face-first into near-certain death out of concern for someone else?" Sirius smirked at Harry's horrified expression, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hypocrite."

"I'm not worth that, Sirius."

"Of course you are. Besides, I wasn't just doing it for you. I have reason to want Voldemort gone for good as well." Sirius fell silent for a moment, then continued on. "I just couldn't risk him possessing me, properly possessing me, that is. He could do a great deal of damage if he had control of my body, and I wasn't about to risk that."

"So, what did you do?"

"Well, I couldn't say no. He'd know I wasn't loyal if I didn't immediately accept." Sirius shrugged helplessly. "I could either say yes and risk everyone's lives, say no and reveal my disloyalty. Or try a third option."

"Which was?"

"Throwing caution to the wind and trying to kill him then and there."

Harry stared at him, then burst out laughing despite himself. "How'd that work out?"

"Have you ever tried to kill something that isn't really alive? That doesn't have an actual body?"

"No. But I can't imagine it went well."

"It was a nightmare. I didn't just reveal my true intentions, but also frightened and angered him." Sirius shook his head. "He's not very powerful, not the way he currently is. But he's furious. When he realised I couldn't kill him and he couldn't kill me, we wound up in a bit of a stalemate. I started pursuing him and he started fleeing while trying to find a way to grow stronger. Neither of us has succeeded as of yet."

"So... you've been doing that this whole time? Trying to kill him?"

Sirius nodded. "And preventing him from getting any stronger." He lowered his head. "I've probably done more damage than if I'd just left him there. Now he's actively trying to return."

"I don't think that's your fault. He was actively trying to return the last time as well. He was already at Hogwarts by now."

"Quirrell." Sirius snorted. "I saw him."

"Was that you?" Harry asked excitedly. "I heard someone in black attacked him when he was in Albania over the summer. Everyone's trying to figure out who it was."

Sirius snorted again. "Yeah, that was me. He got close to Voldemort without even knowing it. I chased him off, just like I've chased off everyone else who gets near. I won't give anyone the opportunity to be possessed by that dingbat."

"But I thought you were in Yugoslavia by then."

"I've been back and forth. Voldemort and I, we've been on the move. He tries to flee somewhere else to regain his strength, and I follow him. National borders don't mean much when you're an ethereal spirit and a dog."

Harry nodded, then paused. "So... where is he now?"

"Back in Yugoslavia, I think." Sirius frowned. "I didn't want to leave him, not to his own devices. But he's weak, and when I got McGonagall's message..." He shook his head. "The moment I heard you were here, I was on my way."

"What do you think he's doing now?"

"I don't know." Sirius inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "But I'll be back soon to find out."

"You're not staying?"

"I can't. I caused this problem, and I'm not about to leave Voldemort scared and angry on his own. It's my duty to finish what I started. I need to figure out how to kill him once and for all."

"How are you supposed to do that if he's not alive to begin with?"

"Good question. I'm still figuring that one out."

"You don't have to do it on your own," Harry said. "Professor McGonagall will help. She's helped me."

Sirius's lip twitched slightly at this, then he sobered up. "She's been treating you all right? She believes your story?"

Harry nodded. "She believes you too. She regrets doubting you at first. We don't always agree on everything, but she's been good to me. We've agreed not to hide things from one other, not the way things were before."

Sirius stared at him, his expression turning darker. "You can't tell her we met."

"But-"

"No." Sirius shook his head sharply. "Harry, I'm glad she's treated you well. I don't have anything against her. But I'm done answering to others. I'm done being locked away in Azkaban and in Grimmauld Place. I've obeyed the Order time and time again and look where it landed me."

"It's not the Order's fault we fell through the veil," Harry protested.

"Isn't it? If you hadn't been kept in the dark over and over, you would have understood Voldemort was trying to lure you into a trap. If Dumbledore didn't refuse to communicate with you, you would have had options other than storming the Ministry on your own."

"That isn't fair," Harry protested. "Dumbledore was on the run then. I tried to get help, and it wasn't Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall's fault I couldn't reach them."

"You know what will happen if I tell her I'm here," Sirius said. "I'll be shut up for my own safety again, while Voldemort runs amok."

"That's not fair," Harry said again. "You don't know what she'll do. And it's not fair to blame her for what Dumbledore did in the other world, for what her other self believed... it's like blaming you for what your counterpart might have done in this world."

Sirius looked at him so sharply Harry nearly reared back. "That's not the same and you know it."

"Of course it's not the same. But it's worth considering, isn't it?"

Sirius was on his feet again, and he walked the length of the dilapidated room before whirling around suddenly. "Do you remember anything about the Department of Mysteries? About what Voldemort was trying to steal?"

"It was an orb." Harry frowned, wondering what this had to do with anything as he tried to remember the incredibly hazy events. "I don't remember much else."

"Think about it. Did you see what must have been written on the shelf below that little orb?"

Harry shook his head, trying desperately to sift through the muddled memories. He'd tried once, with Professor McGonagall, using Professor Dumbledore's old Pensieve, but the memories were just as cloudy from an outside perspective as when they were within his mind. "Sometimes I remember new details if I try really hard."

"Think, Harry. Think about the orb."

Harry strained his mind, of those moments just before Lucius Malfoy appeared. The dusty orb in his hand- a bit of writing nearby-

"S. P. T.," he said suddenly. "Those letters were on an old label. And A. P... there were a bunch of letters, I don't remember all of them. The last one was a D. And it said Dark Lord. And... it had my name on it."

"It was a prophecy, Harry."

"A prophecy?" Harry stared at him blankly. "What prophecy?"

Sirius sighed heavily. "Dumbledore never confirmed it directly with us, but it was obvious. Voldemort wanted to find the prophecy, the one made before you were born."

"There was a prophecy about me?"

Sirius nodded. "I never knew its contents. No one did, except your parents and Dumbledore. And the seer who told it, I suppose. But after it was made, James and Lily went into hiding. Voldemort must have known about it too, because he went after you and your family. But he didn't know the full contents."

"That's what Voldemort was trying to get to all year?" Harry gaped at Sirius, then grew indignant. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't even know there was a damn prophecy until that year. I was only told Voldemort was after your parents."

"But you didn't tell me when you did find out!"

"I didn't," Sirius agreed. "Because I trusted Dumbledore. I trusted the Order. I'm done doing that now."

A strange feeling had begun to rise in Harry's stomach. "Professor McGonagall hasn't told me anything about a prophecy since I arrived."

"Big surprise there."

"She might not have known about it," Harry reasoned. "But... Professor Dumbledore's portrait. He could have told me, but he didn't."

"I don't think Dumbledore's evil or anything like that," Sirius said quickly. "But... he has his own way of doing things, and we're his chess pieces as he figures out how to get there. I respect many of the things he's done, I really do. But I've reached a point... he has his way, and I have mine."

"He's dead here, though. You know that, right?"

Sirius nodded. "You do know McGonagall is just the same as him, don't you? In both worlds."

Harry thought about this, then hesitated. "I don't know about that."

"Don't you?"

Harry shook his head, thinking back to that afternoon in Diagon Alley. "She promised me if I trusted her, she'd trust me. That the adults in my life hid things from me and that's why I've always done things on my own, but that I don't have to that here."

"And you believe her?" Sirius asked, a hint of doubt in his voice. "You don't think she's just saying that so you'll tell her everything?"

"She hasn't let me down yet." Harry frowned. "She hasn't said anything about a prophecy, though."

"And you really think she just doesn't know about it? With Dumbledore gone, she's just entirely out of the loop?"

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head again. "I think we need to tell her you're here."

"No."

"She can help you."

"No, Harry."

"Then why did you even tell her you were coming back in the first place?" Harry snapped. "That was a stupid thing to do."

Sirius shot him a wounded look before sitting again, this time across the room from Harry. "I was excited. I'd just found out you were here. I never thought I'd see you again. That message wasn't exactly meant for her- I was talking to myself, and the bloody dog went and conveyed it back."

"The dog? What dog?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Who do you think her contacts are? She's an Animagus, isn't she? There's a web of animals all the way from here to Eastern Europe, and their messages have a method of finding their way back and forth."

Harry nodded slowly, then pressed a hand to his forehead. "I am glad you're here, Sirius. And I'm so sorry you fell through the veil because of me."

"Don't blame yourself. I don't want you ever blaming yourself for that. It's Voldemort's fault. And my idiot cousin's." Sirius sighed. "And I'm glad you're here too. You... really do trust McGonagall, don't you?"

"I do." Harry shifted across the floor, closer to Sirius. "She hasn't given me any reason not to. But you're not going to let her help you, are you?"

"No," Sirius said sadly. "I'm not. After everything... I just can't, Harry. I'm done."

They sat in silence for a long time. Sirius moved closer to Harry, so they were sitting next to one another, and Harry rested his head on his shoulder as Sirius wrapped an arm around him.

Author's Note: Thank you, as always, for your kind words and your feedback. I hope you enjoy the journey ahead as things begin to truly amp up toward the climax!