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Chapter Thirty-One—The Beginning of Summer

"Your practical work has much improved, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

Harry thinks she sighs, but he doesn't really see what she would have to sigh about. He's pursued these remedial classes, and he didn't complain after Aradia told him he had to attend them, and he did find some value in them. There's no reason for McGonagall to look at him with yearning, tired eyes.

But he also doesn't think that he'll get much out of questioning her, so he listens to her instructions for the summer homework, nods, gathers up the parchments she hands him, and bids her farewell.

Anthony and Padma are waiting outside the classroom. Harry smiles at them and starts walking towards Ravenclaw Tower. "It was nice of you to come meet me, but you didn't have to. I was planning to share a compartment with you on the train."

There's silence behind him, and Harry turns around to see Anthony and Padma exchanging glances. He swallows. "Do you—not want to?" He wants to keep Blaise as his friend most of all, of course, but he hopes that he didn't lose his Housemates' friendship.

"We figured it out," Padma says.

"What?"

"Who the Heir of Slytherin was this year. It's obvious once you look at the evidence." Padma brushes a strand of dark hair from her face and stares at Harry. "Do you know if she's going to be punished at all?"

There are fewer Gryffindor girls than there are Gryffindor boys. Harry does think that Padma probably has figured it out. He sighs and spreads his hands. "I don't know."

"I don't think Blaise and Nott would let her go unpunished."

"She's not really the one who really did that much to me, though. That was Neville—"

Harry stops, because he hasn't told Anthony and Padma all the details about losing Neville's friendship, but they're smart enough to put the pieces together, just like they did about Weasley's sister. They exchange looks, and Padma purses her lips. They seem to be having a silent argument.

Anthony is the one who speaks, though, when they're more than halfway back to Ravenclaw Tower. "What did Longbottom do to you?"

"I sort of did it to him, too."

"I don't believe that."

Harry looks back at Anthony, and lets a small, vicious smile flicker across his face. "You know that I'm not as sweet and innocent as some people assume I am, right?"

"Merlin's left testicle, of course not," Anthony snaps, which surprises Harry enough to make him blink and pay closer attention to his friend. "And we know that Longbottom thought you were the Heir. But it's more than that. If it was just that, he would have apologized when they found out the real Heir was a Gryffindor, and that would have ended your fight. Something else happened. What?"

Harry swallows. He doesn't—

It's dangerous to tell them about his Parseltongue. But what happens if they find out that he's keeping secrets? Or that he told Theo and not them?

Will it end up just like the situation with Neville, only worse, because they know that he's concealing something from them and they'll poke and poke at it until they find out? Harry knows well enough what Ravenclaw curiosity is like. He gets to see it around him every day.

"Harry?"

Anthony and Padma are both staring at him. They've come to a stop in the middle of the corridor, and Harry winces at the thought that anyone might come around the corner and find them here—

"C'mon," he says, and leads them down a side corridor that not a lot of people use. The dust crunches under their feet for a moment. Not even house-elves come here.

Anthony and Padma don't show any hesitation in following him. Harry feels a twinge in his heart. Yes, he's going to tell them, and if he has to make them swear an oath afterwards not to tell anyone, then that's what he'll do.

"I think this is private enough," Harry says, halting. Not only is there all this dust on the floor, but there's no portraits on the walls, and no doors that he can see opening into other rooms, disused or not.

"What's going on?

Padma's voice is quiet. Harry turns around and swallows a little. "Neville found out that I was keeping a secret from him, and it was the one thing that convinced him I was the Heir of Slytherin," he says, looking carefully at both Anthony and Padma. Neither of them seems all that shocked. They're just listening to him intently. "I want to tell you what the secret is, but I'm afraid that you'll react the way he did."

"You're telling us, so we can't."

Padma's smile is small and quick, but she's nodding in agreement with Anthony. "It means something that you're telling us, Harry. Is there a reason that you never did with Neville?"

"He had—well, I thought he had personal reasons to react badly. It turned out that he was just more hurt I was keeping the secret at all, but I did think he would be upset for those other reasons."

"You're making it sound like you're secretly a relative of You-Know-Who or something."

Harry really can't ask for a better introduction than that. He extends his arm and hisses, "Come on, Artemis, you're going to meet a few more of my friends after all."

He can hear Anthony's sharp gasp, and he sees a flicker from the edge of his eye that might be Padma drawing her wand. He does his best to ignore that, and just watch Artemis as she climbs free of his pocket and winds around his arm. She scents the air, then hisses, "Tell them that they smell nice. The girl better than the boy, though."

Harry laughs in spite of himself, and that probably reassures his friends. Padma lowers her wand. "What did she—you can speak to her, right? What did she say?"

Harry keeps his thoughts about how she should know he can speak to Artemis to himself, and just nods. "She says that you both smell nice, but you smell better than Anthony."

"Hey!"

Padma edges nearer with a tremulous smile that makes Harry feel fragile, too. She holds out a hand. "Can I—can I touch her? Will she let me touch her?"

"She does like to be touched," Harry says, and holds Artemis out with a soft, "Behave.'

"I shall behave impeccably."

Harry just nods and lets Padma run her fingers down Artemis's scales. There's a look of awe in her eyes that makes Harry wonder if she likes snakes, or if she just thinks Artemis is more highly magical than she really is.

Well, Artemis is magical, but not in a way that Harry intends to tell them about. He might think that revealing his Parseltongue isn't as fraught as he once thought it would be, but he agrees with Aradia that no one but her, Harry, and Blaise needs to know about Harry's life-creating abilities right now.

"She's so pretty," Padma whispers. "Can you tell her that?"

"I understand English. Tell her that."

"You don't understand everything," Harry hisses at Artemis, and smiles at Padma. "She does understand a lot of English words. And she knows when someone admires her. She wanted me to introduce her to you before I thought it was a good idea."

"Why do you have Parseltongue?" Anthony asks. Harry glances at him and sees him standing still, biting his lip, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Artemis. "Obviously you aren't Slytherin's Heir—"

"And Longbottom was stupid to think so," Padma says, then coos at Artemis, "Who's the pretty thing? You are, you are!"

Artemis wriggles in place, and hisses softly at Harry, "She has good taste."

That actually makes Harry blink and stare at Artemis for a second. She's developing a more complex consciousness, he thinks, a grasp of concepts that a few months ago would have been too complicated for her to understand.

"What?"

"Why are you Slytherin's Heir?" Padma and Anthony speak at the same time, their voices overlapping each other's.

"I don't know exactly how I have Parseltongue," Harry says, shaking his head. It's true enough. He doesn't understand the mechanism he used to create Artemis and give himself Parseltongue, not really. "And she says that you have good taste, Padma. I didn't know she knew what that meant."

"What kind of snake is she?"

"I don't know that, either. But she's obviously magical…"

The more Harry talks, the more relaxed his friends look. And by the time they all walk back to Ravenclaw Tower, Padma and Anthony have started debating the magical theory basis of Parseltongue, and whether anyone could be a Parselmouth if they found the right spell, and whether there are Parselmouths other than Slytherin who just hid themselves because of the public stigma around it.

"They are right," Artemis murmurs from beneath Harry's heart, tucked in a pocket he cut in the robes for her. "It is stupid to abandon such a gift or hide it."

"They're saying that people did hide it."

"Only because of other stupid people."

Harry smiles and bows his head over her. Then he has to stop and take Artemis out so Padma can touch her one more time before they go back into the common room and he has to hide her.

Wonder fills him like a shining jewel. He showed his secret to more people, and neither of them abandoned him.

He's glad, and Artemis hisses her own gladness throughout most of that evening, in a voice too soft for the others to hear.

Aradia is pleased with her correspondence this morning. There are letters from Blaise and Harry saying they did well on their exams and are looking forward to coming home for the summer. There is a letter from Severus Snape saying that he knows about Harry's Parseltongue and hinting at a willingness to collaborate with her on keeping the boys safe, given that he is Blaise's Head of House and a mentor of sorts to Harry.

And there is a letter from the Weasleys, in response to her delicate inquiry about whether they wanted their daughter's name exposed or not.

It's not the first letter. The first was a Howler that exploded against her wards, and the second was an extremely angry but ordinary letter about how Aradia could not threaten good people, and she had to keep in mind that their daughter had been possessed by a Dark artifact, and a set of other high nonsense.

But now the Weasleys have accepted their position, and what they do offer is pleasing. Among other things, a promise that they will talk to their youngest son and daughter about staying away from Harry and Blaise.

Aradia is an expert at this sort of game. She will pretend to be satisfied with that, and in the meantime, write letters hinting at how awful it would be if their daughter's sin came out.

Until it is truly a sin in their minds, and not just an unfortunate, childish mistake that would cause some embarrassment but no truly lasting damage if it were revealed.

Aradia sets the letters aside and begins eating again, but pauses as she sees a raven flying into her dining room. Interesting. Few people use ravens for their post, and the ones who do are mostly outside Britain and Italy both.

She accepts the letter from the bird and slits the top open. The seal is a plain blob of wax, nothing she recognizes.

Neither is the handwriting, but the signature is, and makes her eyebrows rise. She considers whether she wants to read this, but she is mostly done with breakfast, and a letter this futile will not spoil her appetite. She sets it to hover in the air with a simple charm while she eats the last of her small cakes.

I don't know what you think you're doing, but the more I hear about you, the worse it is. You've got to realize that I won't let my godson just go with you and get corrupted by you. I was on a quest that didn't allow me to claim him, but I'm coming back to Britain now. You'll see. Harry will want to live with me, not you. I can offer him a normal life.

That's the essence of the letter, although there's more rambling about how good Black is and how terrible Aradia is. And the signature, of course. Signed by his own flourishing, and apparently shaking hand.

There is so much Aradia could do with that signature.

She eyes it in thought, and then sighs and puts the letter aside with a shake of her head. She could do much, because Black wrote it in anger and so infused the simple ink with some of his own magic, but she will not stand in the way of Harry's vengeance.

Harry is the one who deserves to call Black to account.

"She didn't write back to me."

Remus sighs a little as he looks at Sirius, sitting slumped across the breakfast table with his head in his hands. It's become a familiar sight in the last few weeks, as they prepare to return to Britain. The last few pages of the book directed them there, and—

Well, it will be good to see Harry again.

But Sirius has sent numerous letters, some to Albus, and now this one to Mrs. Zabini, and has received nothing—or nothing substantial—in reply. Albus wrote back with soothing platitudes about how Harry was fine despite the Petrifications occurring in the school and that he appears to be doing well in his remedial Transfiguration classes. He encouraged Sirius to come for a visit, but didn't seem hopeful that Harry would want to stay with him for the summer. Mrs. Zabini did not reply.

Remus voices the suggestion he's voiced several times now. "Sirius, have you written to Harry?"

"Writing to him didn't work very well in the past," Sirius says, saying the same thing he's said several times now. He looks up, his eyes so bleak that Remus winces away from the sight of them. "I want to speak to Harry face-to-face and explain about how sorry I am and how he should stay with me."

"Yeah, but you haven't written to him in a while. Maybe you should do it now, before he's settled in Italy for the summer?"

"With that Dark witch."

"There's no strong evidence against her," Remus says, but he wilts under the look Sirius sends him. He knows as well as his friend that no evidence isn't the same thing as no guilt, and if only one or two of Mrs. Zabini's husbands had died, that would be one thing. But she's killed seven of them, and she will be a corrupting influence on someone as innocent as Harry.

Someone with weak magic, at that, so weak that he has so take remedial Transfiguration. Mrs. Zabini can't want Harry for his power. Remus fears what her motivation for trying to get hold of James's son could be.

Remus wants to help Harry, shelter him, protect him, just like Sirius. But that's one reason he thinks Sirius needs to write now, instead of waiting and meeting Harry at the train platform, which is what he wants.

Remus tries one more time. "Do you really want your first meeting with Harry to be in public, Sirius? If he's as retiring as Albus says he is, then he's probably going to feel uncomfortable, and he won't want to see you there."

"It's not my first meeting with him! I met him when he was a baby!"

"You know that doesn't count, Sirius."

"Of course it does. Of course it does."

Remus gives up on getting through to Sirius on that score, and instead says as calmly as he can, "Listen to me, Sirius. You didn't answer my question. Do you want to embarrass him or confront him in public when he meets you for the first time that he can remember?"

"Well, we could have had a private meeting at Christmas, but Harry didn't want to stay at Hogwarts!"

Remus sighs and shakes his head. Yes, Sirius is going to be stubborn enough to force this, and Remus thinks it will only alienate them further from Harry.

But he's not Harry's godfather. He'll only get to see him at all because Sirius doesn't mind that his best friend is a werewolf. So Remus has no strength to force Sirius to act differently, either.

At least, if he stays out of this confrontation, he can hopefully make it a little better.

"Harry!"

Harry turns his head, frowning. There's a voice he doesn't know shouting out his name on the train platform, and that's strange. If Theo was calling him, or Anthony, or Padma, he would know the voice. And he doesn't think their parents, if for some reason they were going to introduce Harry to them, would use his first name.

Blaise grabs Harry's shoulder, and Harry leans back against him, absorbing his warmth and strength. "Who is that?" Blaise whispers.

"Would your mum have sent someone else to pick us up?"

"Not without warning us about it in advance. I've had people try to kidnap me or hurt me to get at her. There's no way that she would just tell someone else to do this and not at least use the book you made to warn us."

Harry nods, tense, his wand in his hand, his eyes darting as he surveys the platform. Artemis hisses soft words that he can't pay attention to right now, and Padma, who's getting off the train, pauses. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Harry!" the voice repeats, and enough of the crowd parts for Harry to see a man whose photograph he's looked at only in old papers.

Sirius Black.

Harry swallows, feeling the muffled beat of panic picking up inside his chest. What if Black dashes over here and grabs him? What if he Apparates before Aradia can find them? What if he gets separated from Blaise, and Black finds out that Harry is a Parselmouth and hates him for it just the way Neville did, and—

Blaise's hand comes down on Harry's shoulder, gripping and steadying him. Harry gets his breath back. He smiles at his best friend, and then he looks up and sees Aradia stalking towards them down the platform.

He relaxes. Black might be an unknown quantity, and his family might have taught him some unusual skills if the newspaper reports were true, but Harry would back Aradia in a duel every time.

"Harry!"

"Harry. Blaise." Aradia leans down to kiss Blaise's cheek, and then turns and puts herself between Black and Harry. "It seems that there is someone here who is intent on attracting our attention."

Harry luxuriates in the word our, and turns around to face Black. He ignores the temptation to stir stones and dust into protective creatures, or try to warp the steel of the train into a guardian. He's all right. He's here with his human guardian. "Hello, Mr. Black."

Sirius swallows. This isn't what he thought his godson would be like at all, when he thought about him. Or even what he pictured from Albus's letters and the few responses he got from his letters to Harry.

Harry is small, his black hair tangled like James's, and his green eyes bright. That much is like Sirius's dreams. But he stands next to Aradia Zabini, maybe the most dangerous witch in Europe, and Blaise Zabini, who is a mini-Slytherin if Sirius ever saw one.

Like Regulus.

Sirius ruthlessly shoves the thought of his brother away and lets a hopeful smile spread across his face. "Harry?"

Harry just looks at him.

"You know who I am, of course." Sirius coughs, aware that a lot of people are turning to stare at them. Harry probably won't like that. Albus said he was private, self-contained, quiet in a way that was stereotypically Ravenclaw. "I was wondering if we could go somewhere and talk about you visiting me this summer?" He's already revising his impression that Harry would be able to live with him right away.

It will take a while. Maybe longer than he thought.

Maybe a lot longer, Sirius thinks, as the minutes tick past, and Harry stares and stares with silent bright eyes.

Mrs. Zabini is the one who breaks the silence, one hand resting on Harry's shoulder in a familiar posture that Sirius hates. She isn't Harry's mother. She has no right or reason to touch him that way. "A visit might be possible. But we shall have to consider whether it is advisable. And it will not be a visit without supervision."

"You mean you would come with him?" Sirius stares at the woman who is far more confusing than he thought, too.

Her son speaks up for the first time. "We both would."

"Then you don't trust me with Harry." That isn't really a surprise, in and of itself. Sirius just thought he would get to make his appeal to his godson, not to the Zabinis. Why are they even here?

This isn't the moment that I imagined.

In the back of his head, he can hear Remus sighing and saying that he should have written to Harry about meeting him at the train platform. Sirius shoves that away, too. Remus didn't come with him, because he thought that would overwhelm Harry. Sirius has to make the decisions on his own.

"Of course I do not."

Sirius blinks and looks up. It takes him a moment to realize that Mrs. Zabini has answered his question. It feels like an eternity has passed between the moment he asked it and the moment she answered.

When he really takes in her answer, he feels like baring his teeth and growling. But his Animagus form is still a secret, and enough people are watching them now that someone could probably figure it out.

"Harry is my godson.'

"Whom you abandoned in the Muggle world for ten years."

Sirius licks his lips. Mrs. Zabini's decree starts up a wave of murmurs, and he really doesn't want this hashed out in front of the public. He ducks his head. "Can we talk about this in private?"

"Why should we? Anything you have to say can be said here."

Sirius closes his eyes. He wants to fling accusations, wants to ask if she's trying to kill him the way she killed her husbands, but—

That would cede control of the situation to Mrs. Zabini. He can practically hear Remus chiding him in the back of his head, asking if Sirius wants to alienate Harry further, or if he wants a reconciliation.

And the answer is, always, reconciliation. Even if he made the choices he thought were the best at the time, Sirius has to admit that Harry thinks his godfather failed him, and Harry is the one whose opinion matters.

Sirius turns to Harry, who has remained silent so far. Looks into those bright eyes that are so far from the ones he remembers, and tries to smile at the still boy who seems to hold all of himself, magic and secrets included, inside his own skin.

"What do you say, Harry? Will you speak with me in private?"

Harry thought he would feel more hatred when meeting Sirius Black for the first time.

Instead, he just feels—tired. Vulnerable. Probably because this is happening in front of so many gaping people on the train platform, and he and Blaise didn't have time to feed Black Harry's despair first.

He finally says, "I'll talk with you in private. But later. Not now. Not here." And that's probably clear, given that here is in public, but he doesn't care if he sounds stupid. He just wants to get out of here and think about Black later. He wants to go home.

Aradia steps in before Black can protest. "You can see him at my villa, Black. I will owl you with the Apparition coordinates and a day that works well for us. You will need to determine whether it will fit in with your busy schedule."

Black freezes for a long moment, muscles coiled. He looks half-wild, which Harry didn't expect. After all, Black has been living pretty well, hasn't he? Moving from place to place, without a permanent home, maybe, but also outside the hell that he left Harry in for a decade.

The realization, the memory, strengthens him. Harry manages to lift his head and meet Black's eyes.

"If you want to talk to me, it needs to be at Aradia's villa."

"You call her Aradia?"

Harry shakes his head. He doesn't think Black can possibly be stupid. He just seems—taken aback by everything. Did he really think that Harry should act in a certain way, the way Neville did?

But Neville had personal experience with Harry to make him that Harry was more innocent and gentler than Harry really is, and he's also a kid. Black is older and he only had rumors to go on. He shouldn't have formed such a rigid opinion of Harry.

In the end, though, Harry just has to live with reality, and so does Black. He repeats, "At Aradia's villa. Then we'll talk. I think we have a lot to talk about."

He walks away to the Apparition point with Aradia and Blaise, ignoring the way that Black gazes longingly after him. He can feel that touch like a spider on his back, but it doesn't matter. He'll talk with his godfather at the villa.

And serve him a very good meal.