'Tis the Season (Pt 2)

The next morning at Ilvermorny, Harry found some additional pep in his step as he waited for his godfather in the Mess Hall. The wait wasn't long at all – in fact, Sirius made it a point to show up extra early so he could have a meal with Harry and his friends before departing for Magical Britain.

Sirius eyed his breakfast strangely, clearly unused to traditional Ilvermorny fare. "So… whaddya call this… egg and tomato concoction? Some variation of quiche a la courgette?"

Ana ruptured into giggles. "Haha. It's a western omelet, Sirius. It might not be a popular entrée at Hogwarts, but I promise it's delicious. Try it!"

Sirius shrugged, and deliberately shoved a small forkful of the omelet in his mouth. He looked upward in contemplation as he munched, before turning back to Ana, grinning. "It's different than my British palate's used to, but it's not bad, Anastasia." He pointed at the knit sweater Ana was wearing. "That jumper you're wearing… that's a right special one. You must have made quite the impression on the Weasley kids for Molly to knit you a Christmas gift. She's a good woman, Molly is."

"It was Daphne who put in a good word on my behalf," clarified Ana. "I did meet Ronald at Hogwarts last April when I competed in the Interscholastic Quiz Bowl. I don't know him as well as Daphne or even Hermione, but he seemed like a nice kid."

Sirius nodded. "Regardless, it's a very special gift. Chances are, neither he nor Daphne likely told you that like the Greengrass or Black families, the Weasleys are also officially pureblooded. Unlike the Greengrasses or Blacks, the Weasleys downplay their pureblood status… not coincidentally, they're also among the friendliest wizarding families to Muggles and Muggle-borns." He slowly shook his head from side to side, making a quiet, sad groan. "The Weasleys aren't a very wealthy family, but I'd have given my left arm to be raised in a household like theirs. I've even offered to help them financially a couple of times, but they've told me to hang on to my galleons. Arthur and Molly are wonderful folks, but bloody stubborn – they view my offerings as 'charitable contributions', but I've only called it helping out friends."

"They sound like wonderful people," agreed Ana. "Daphne sure thinks very highly of them."

"I still can't get over the fact a Greengrass got sorted in Gryffindor," drawled Sirius. He smiled in a way that made him look five years younger. "Daphne sounds like a terrific young lady; probably a product of a tolerant upbrining. I've only met her parents a couple of times, but Edmund and Cordelia don't reek of the same smugness most Greengrasses are known for."

Ana giggled. "Her younger sister Astoria's going to Hogwarts next term. From what Daphne told me, it sounds like she's hoping to be a Ravenclaw… truth be told, that's probably the house I would have hoped for had I attended Hogwarts."

"Haha. You're certainly plenty brainy, but you've got Gryffindor written all over you, love. The Sorting Hat often knows witches and wizards better than they know themselves," chuckled Sirius. "Not to mention, Harry here told me how courageous you were last spring." His countenance darkened as he hung his head in shame. "I still can't get over Peter's downfall, both literally and figuratively. Even after what he's done to the people I hold dear – that includes you – I still can't bring myself to truly despise him. I despised the deeds, but pitied the man. He wasn't always the git you faced; in fact there was a time when he was one of my closest friends. I can't just throw those memories away."

Ana chewed on her lip a bit. "Maybe so, but considering how he double-crossed you and Harry's parents… you have every right to resent him." Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden, shrill call.

"All right, seventh-years! It's eight fifty-five!" The high-pitched amplified voice of Missy Ludwig echoed throughout the Mess Hall. "We'll be forming lines for the NAMURS in the next few minutes; as a final reminder, if you haven't already turned in your wands to your house head, please do so now!"

Sirius was about to stand up, but Harry gently grabbed his arm. "We've got a good fifteen or twenty minutes before it's our turn, Padfoot."

"True, but you're also not taking the NAMURS this time," countered Sirius with a smirk.

Harry shrugged. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to spend just a few more minutes with my friends before we leave." Sirius let out a bark-like laugh and nodded.

Once Harry had a chance to wish his friends a pleasant break, he followed Sirius outside to the main courtyard. Harry practically did a double-take when he caught a glimpse of the familiar Triumph Bonneville, parked underneath a massive snow-covered spruce. "So, Padfoot," he began, "I take it you've had your fill of no-maj aircraft?"

Sirius let out a rumbling guffaw. "I s'pose you could say that. Nothing against Muggle technology, but I'd rather be the one steering." He gestured toward the sidecar. "I've made a few additional modifications recently; I think you'll find the ride to your liking."

"I trust you," admitted Harry as he adjusted his teal and gold scarf, "but I'd prefer to arrive in London in a state other than frozen. It's maybe twenty degrees, and that's at sea level." Sirius blinked in confusion, so Harry quickly corrected himself. "About minus seven or eight degrees below, Centigrade."

"The sidecar's enchanted to be room temperature," Sirius said as he handed Harry a helmet. "And the ride'll be quick… I know a few shortcuts." Moments later, a couple of loud engine revs pierced the chilly air, and the motorbike ascended into the cloud-blanketed sky, before vanishing.

While the trip London was indeed short as Sirius promised, the sun was well into its occidental dip – maybe thirty or forty minutes of useful daylight left, thought Harry. Sirius then directed the motorbike down several winding alleyways, before coming to a complete stop just paces from a Muggle dumpster. He discreetly cast an invisibility charm on the vehicle, and led Harry around a corner to a strangely-familiar establishment.

"Welcome home, pup," Sirius murmured as he opened the front door of the Leaky Cauldron for Harry. "This is the Leaky Cauldron – from here, we'll venture on to Diagon Alley in the morning. In the meantime, try and keep a low profile – as you already know, the Dark Lord has many agents; I guarantee Lucius Malfoy was trying to recruit you last year. It's important that you mind your own business, and speak to no one." He gestured toward a round, oaken table near the far corner. "Why don't you take a seat over there? Maybe busy yourself with a book? I'm going to talk to ol' Tom and get us a room for the evening. Shouldn't be long."

Harry nodded, and mussed his hair to try and hide his famous scar. "How's that?"

"Well, they'll have to look closely to make it out, but at least it's not obvious," Sirius replied thoughtfully. "Now, wait there – I'll be back to fetch you in a tick."

Harry, trying to be inconspicuous, made his way to the table and pulled out a paperback novel that Ana had given him as a Christmas present just a couple of days earlier. He glanced around the room a couple of times just to make sure nobody was watching him – so far, so good, he thought. He had barely begun to immerse himself in the world of Redwall Abbey, when he felt a hearty clap on his shoulder.

"I've secured us a room upstairs," Sirius said in a low voice. "Tom'll have some stew and butterbeers sent to us shortly."

Harry nodded and followed his godfather up the creaky wooden steps and down a long hallway with variously-shaded doors. As they approached the end of the hallway, Sirius produced a slightly-tarnished silver key with a black ribbon attached to it, and opened room number 16, whose door was also black.

"What are the odds," Harry mused upon realizing how appropriate the room was.

"Haha, Ol' Tom's always had a rather dry sense of humor," chuckled Sirius as he ushered Harry in. After a quick engorgiowhich restored their baggage to their regular size, the two started to settle in. Grateful to have a quiet evening to themselves, they shared a couple of laughs over dinner whilst watching a few scattered flakes fall from the sky, with the crackling, dancing flames from the fireplace serving as additional holiday ambience.

The following morning after a quick breakfast, Harry followed Sirius downstairs to the rear of the pub. When they stopped in front of an ordinary-looking brick wall, Harry threw his godfather a puzzled glance. "Are we waiting for something, Padfoot? Or someone?"

Sirius shook his head. "Naw… this is the entrance to Diagon Alley. You'll have to forgive me, but it's been quite some time since I've done any business in Magical Britain. I just need a moment is all." Thirty seconds later, he produced his wand. "Ahh… I think I've got it." He took his wand, and after locating a particular brick – three up and two across – he tapped it thrice, and a hidden archway revealed itself.

"This, pup," exclaimed Sirius as he led Harry through the previously-disguised opening, "is Diagon Alley. It's a bit like Nessel Road, but without the peanut butter jelly sandwiches those Ilvermorny kids seem to like."

"And probably more meat pies," Harry added.

"That, too," chuckled Sirius. He then pointed at a grandiose, yet rather asymmetric ediface perhaps half a kilometer down the cobbled path. "That large building is Gringotts. It's the only bank in Magical Britain, and it just so happens to be run by goblins."

Harry just nodded. "Yeah, I remember Ana telling me about goblins. They're sort of like our Pukwudgies at Ilvermorny, at least personality-wise."

"Heh," snorted Sirious. "Goblins are rather touchy folk… they aren't above swindling witches or wizards they deem suspicious. You'd best mind your manners around them."

"So," continued Harry, "my family vault is in there? And you're sure there's something in there about Potter family magic?"

"Anything valuable to your family is stored there," confirmed Sirius. "And you're the only one with access to it."

If Harry thought the façade of Gringotts was massive, he had no idea how extensive the bank was on the inside. The main lobby was cavernous, with dozens of desks manned by goblin tellers dotting the perimeter. The line in front of them seemed to be as long as a city block; Sirius mentally calculated an hour's wait, perhaps an hour and fifteen minutes.

Harry busied himself by continuing the Redwall novel he was reading the evening before, and followed his godfather as the line crawled past a couple of bends. Just as they had gotten to about the halfway point, a familiar squeak jarred Harry back to reality.

"Hiya, Harry!"

Harry turned ninety degrees to his right, and was unable to help the massive grin on his face when he recognized the smiling blonde figure that was waving to him. "Oh, hello there, Daphne! You kinda surprised me. Small world, isn't it?"

The always-fashionable Daphne Greengrass was dressed in an expensive black peacoat and she wore her silky golden hair in twin braided pigtails. She was standing next to her impeccably-dressed parents and another girl Harry assumed to be Daphne's younger sister.

"Small world indeed," she giggled. "So, what brings you to Wizarding Britain?"

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Well, my godfather brought me here so I can learn a bit of the Potter family magic. It's a Christmas gift. He told me that some of those secrets should be stored away in my family's vault… I'm hoping they're still there."

Daphne just nodded silently. "I see. As for us… my mum's Great Uncle Gustavus passed away earlier this month, unfortunately. He left her some galleons in accordance with his will, so we're just here to verify the deposit."

"I'm sorry to hear that," offered Harry. "Were you close?"

"It's all right," sighed Daphne. "I didn't really know him very well; I think I met him maybe twice." She then turned toward her sister, and whispered something in her ear, before smiling brightly at Harry. "It's wonderful to see you again, Harry. I'm glad you caught us when we did, because I'd like to introduce you to my sister, Astoria. She's been aching to meet you."

Like Daphne, Astoria wore a fancy ensemble, but while there was a family resemblance, she had markedly different features than her sister. She had the same distinctly-curved nose and dimpled chin as Daphne, but her hair was a rich coppery brown which she wore in looped braids. While far from overweight, Astoria wasn't waifishly thin like Daphne, and behind a flattering pair of round tortoiseshell glasses were two bright and inquisitive eyes. Unlike Daphne's baby blues, hers were a lovely amber with a hint of green.

Harry extended his hand to the smaller girl. "Hello, Astoria. It's nice to meet you… as you probably already know, I'm Harry."

However, Astoria didn't budge. Blushing deeply, she tried to turn away from Harry, but Daphne gently grabbed her arm and gave her an admonishing look.

Daphne turned back to Harry and smiled pleasantly. "Don't worry, Harry. I promise Tori isn't stuck-up; she's just playing coy." She let out a mischievous snicker. "Someone has a little bit of a crush on you; she's had one for ages."

An indignant Astoria stamped a black patent Mary Jane shoe on the floor before letting out a dramatic groan. "Ugh! Speak for yourself, Daph! You're the one that kept going on and on and on about that dance you had with Harry all bloody summer!"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "And you're one to talk, Tori! At least I can look at Harry in the eye and have a conversation with him! And you're the one who's been writing unsent letters, signed as Mrs. Harry Potter." Astoria's already-rosy cheeks then deepened a shade or two; she then blew her sister a massive raspberry.

Harry clapped a hand to his face. Oh, for the love of Merlin, he thought. Just as he kicked himself for not bringing his invisibility cloak, a sharp sibilant sound caught his attention. He whirled back to catch Sirius winking at him.

"Hey kiddo," he whispered. "Why don't you ask your friend Daphne and her little sister if they'd like to get a milkshake or a sundae with you at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour when we're done?" He dug into his pocket, producing a small handful of coins, but let out a disappointed growl. "Bah… forgot I've only been carrying those blasted dragots lately. Like I said, it's been a while. Sorry, pup."

Harry shook a dismissive hand. "It's all right, honest. I can grab some – what were they called – erm, galleons from the family vault in a few."

"That's right, pup, but you'll only need a few sickles," Sirius suggested. "The silver ones."

"Fair enough," replied Harry. "Now, I'm not entirely sure where this ice cream shop is… this is my first time in Diagon Alley, after all."

"Haha," chuckled Sirius. "I'd wager the Greengrass sisters do."

A full ninety minutes had passed before a monocled goblin with an exceptionally beaky nose beckoned them to follow him; the descent to the vault reminded him of his previous excursions underneath the Ilvermorny castle. As if the underground vault system wasn't creepy enough, there were also the goblin employees to deal with. Even on their best days, they were curt and aloof; goblins invariably viewed wizards as clients and not friends.

Harry could scarcely believe the fortune that hid behind Vault 687; he figured it would have taken him months to count the coinage. It would have taken him many months more to go through the tomes, scrolls, and other priceless artifacts that many generations of Potters have accumulated.

Sirius and Harry had spent nearly thirty minutes searching for a parchment or scroll with the information on how to cast a resurrection spell; their efforts had been fruitless up to that point. Just as Sirius was about to flip through a musty grimoire, a small brown pan flute caught Harry's eye. He wasn't musically inclined, but he did recall Ana telling him that Daphne was an accomplished flautist – maybe it would be a nice makeshift Christmas present, he thought. It was brown, probably made from some sort of reed, and looked like it hadn't been played in many years, judging by the copious amount of dust on it.

After wiping the flute off with his sleeve, he put the flute to his lips to test it out, but to his annoyance, no notes came out of it. Confused, he shook the instrument vigorously, but it looked like he had already gotten most of the dust and cobwebs off it. He blew into the flute again, a bit more forcefully this time, and this time a muffled squeak came out of it. Aha, Harry thought. Something must have gotten stuck in there – precisely what, he had no idea.

He continued puffing into the flute, but ran out of breath after several attempts. Maybe Sirius could help, he surmised. Part of him was hesitant to disturb him, but what other opportunity would there be? He cleared his throat as he presented the instrument to his godfather. "Erm, Padfoot? I found something here… something maybe I could give Daphne for Christmas? Ana says she's a pretty good flute player – she'd definitely put it to better use than I ever could…" He bit his lip before continuing. "It doesn't seem to play very well… I want to say something's trapped inside of it which keeps it from sounding musical."

"Awright, Pup," agreed Sirius, "let me have a look-see." He took the flute from Harry's outstretched hand, eyeing it carefully. He took a handkerchief and wiped the instrument down; he then put it to his lips and with one hefty blow – FWOMP! A small, rolled up piece of parchment flew out of the opposite end of the flute, which Harry deftly caught mid-air. "Hahaha. Still got it," he chuckled with pride.

"I didn't know you were a musician," replied a stunned Harry.

Sirius couldn't help but let his chest puff out a little. "Not to toot my own horn – no pun intended - but I played the alto saxophone in the orchestra when I was at Hogwarts. First chair, fifth through seventh year."

Harry then unrolled the parchment; it was certainly small – maybe the size of his hand. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out the writing – for one, the calligraphy was quite small; even more frustrating, the letters themselves looked very strange to him. He offered the parchment to Sirius to see if he could make heads or tails. "Hey Padfoot? I can't read this – can you help?"

"Let's see," murmured Sirius as he looked at the parchment. "Μαγεία της Ανάστασης."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked a confused Harry.

"Mageia tis Anastasis – it's written in Classical Greek," clarified Sirius. "Enchantment of Resurrection."

"So what we've been looking for… has been hidden in this flute this whole time," Harry said.

Sirius nodded. "I'll need to cast an engorgement charm later so I can read this in its entirety. My Greek's a bit rusty, but I should still know enough to figure it out. In the meantime, why don't you grab yourself a handful of coins, and have some fun with your friends? A small handful of sickles should suffice, but they're also Greengrasses so don't be shocked if they want the most expensive thing on the menu… better grab a couple galleons to be safe."