The common room was quieter than usual, but not calm. People spoke in low voices. The Fat Lady's frame stood empty, her canvas torn and still unrepaired. Even the fire felt subdued, as if it too had flinched when Sirius Black slashed his way into the castle.
Harry sat in the window seat, his forehead resting lightly against the cool pane. The stars beyond the glass looked distant and unfamiliar.
Hermione stepped into the alcove and raised her wand without a word. A quick muffliato, then a gentle privacy charm. She didn't sit right away—just hovered, uncertain.
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "You can stay."
She lowered herself onto the opposite cushion, tucking her legs beneath her skirt, and waited.
"I keep thinking," Harry began after a long pause, "if he really wanted to kill me, he's had chances. Loads."
Hermione nodded. "And he didn't take any of them."
"He was right outside the door, Hermione."
"I know."
He glanced at her, frowning. "Don't you think that's weird?"
"I think it's important," she said carefully. "Harry, he swore an oath. Magical. Blood-bound. That can't be faked. And Gringotts confirmed it hasn't been broken."
"Yeah," he said, voice flat. "So either he's found a way to get around it, or he's not actually after me."
"Exactly."
Harry pulled his knees in tighter. "I want him to be innocent."
Hermione didn't respond straight away. When she did, her voice was soft. "I know you do. And that doesn't make you foolish. It makes you kind."
He looked down. "But what if I'm wrong?"
"Then we deal with that, too. But you're not wrong to want the truth. You've always said that's all you really want."
Harry nodded once. "He was my dad's best friend."
"And he's your godfather. Which means—if the oath still holds—he's still tied to you. That matters."
They sat in silence for a while, the muffled hum of the castle just beyond their little bubble.
"Do you think we can do something?" Harry asked eventually.
Hermione tilted her head. "You mean... reach him?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He hesitated. "We've got help now. Elijah. Clarisse. And tomorrow... the Patronus lesson. Lupin said it was about more than just fending off Dementors."
Hermione straightened, the gears already turning behind her eyes. "He did, didn't he?"
The next morning, that hope followed them into the Defence classroom—tucked between the pages of their notes and the edge of their wands.
The classroom had been cleared. No desks. Just a circle of cushions and soft, early light through the windows.
Professor Lupin looked tired, but focused. "The Patronus Charm," he began, "is a very difficult piece of magic. Most wizards can't cast a full one. It takes control, clarity—and a memory strong enough to hold back fear."
He paced slowly. "A true Patronus is a guardian, yes. But it can also serve as a beacon. A way to reach someone else, if your intent is clear enough."
He didn't elaborate further.
When he cast his own, the room filled with silver-blue light. A great, luminous wolf loped silently in a circle before fading. It left the air feeling strange—thinner and charged.
Hermione stared. "That's... beautiful."
Harry felt something shift in his chest. A pull. A spark. He wanted to try.
They practiced for nearly an hour. Neither produced more than mist, but Lupin didn't seem disappointed.
"You're doing well," he said. "This isn't easy magic. Don't expect perfection—not yet."
Afterward, Harry lingered.
"Professor," he said, as the others drifted out, "can I ask something?"
Lupin looked up.
"If someone... someone dangerous, but maybe not bad, needed to be reached—could a Patronus work for that?"
Lupin's expression didn't change, but his voice did. "You're thinking of Sirius."
Harry nodded.
"We know about the oath," Hermione said quietly. "Gringotts showed us the mark. It's still binding."
Lupin closed his eyes for a moment. "Even so. Harry... I can't help you with this."
Harry's voice was firm. "Why not?"
"Because if you're wrong—if he's not who you hope he is—it could destroy you. And if you're right, and he is innocent—he's in more danger than you can imagine."
Harry looked down.
"I'm not saying we meet him," he said. "Just... contact. A message. Through someone we trust."
Lupin's eyes softened with something old and worn. "That's not a choice I can make. But you have people now. People who can decide if it's worth the risk."
He didn't stop Harry as he left.
The idea was already settling in Harry's chest—not quite a plan, but something solid enough to write down.
The letter was short—simple words on worn parchment. But Harry folded it with care, knowing what he was asking might change everything.
Elijah,
If a Patronus can send messages—could we use it to reach him? If Sirius is still bound by the oath, then maybe he's not our enemy. Maybe he never was.
If there's a way to send him something true—something only we could send—he might trust it. I think we have to try.
- Harry
Elijah read it twice, lips pressed in though. Then once more. No smile. Just a shift in his eyes—like something had finally clicked into place.
The owl came at dusk. Not a school owl—sleek, dark, and silent. The kind that didn't need a return address.
Harry waited until the common room emptied, then cracked the seal in the quiet alcove near the window. The parchment was thick, the ink neat but spare.
Harry,
Good thinking. I hadn't considered a Patronus for this. Too simple, maybe. But it might work.
If he's still bound, and he's in hiding, this could be a way through. I'll start crafting the message. It needs to be specific—something only he'd know, or trust.
We've been tracking quietly. No sightings yet, but there were signs someone's been through Grimmauld Place—right after the Goblins reset the wards. Not random. Careful. Could be him. And your parents' will was sealed. Improperly. It names him as your guardian. It should've gone to trial. It didn't. If he couldn't raise you, Alice Longbottom and Amelia Bones designated next. We can talk about that more at break.
What we're seeing now—your placement with the Dursleys, his in Azkaban—none of it holds up under scrutiny. There's enough for the ICW to take interest. The legal team is compiling the case.
Give it a few days. If he's out there, and still sane enough to listen, we'll reach him.
You did right to ask.
— E.D.