The Next Dance

THE NEXT DANCE

BY AERIE22

CHAPTER FIVE

FEELING VERY, VERY OLD

Dear Mae and Tony,

I am sorry for not writing you the past couple weeks, but a lot has been happening.

First of all, I have a new girlfriend. Her name is Parvati Patil. She's from India. Well, her family has been in England for about 200 years. I think I mentioned her this summer. We went to the Yule Ball together. I didn't know her very well then. But I have gotten to know her now and I really like her. She is very pretty and has long black hair in a braid and pretty dark eyes. I think she is in the picture in my room of all my friends at Gryffindor. She likes to dance and is very nice and we talk a lot. And she is a lot of fun to be with. I really like her. We hold hands a lot. It is really nice.

I know you thought I liked Hermione and all. I guess that didn't work out. Maybe she will like my best friend Ron. You met Ron when everyone came to pick me up. He was the one with red hair. (Ha Ha Ha!)

Mae, I owe you at least five pounds for saying 'and stuff' at the end of my sentences. I know I caught myself saying it several times. And I made the mistake of telling Ron about your fining me. Now, whenever I say 'and stuff,' he shouts out 'another 25p for the poor box' and laughs at me. I really am trying to stop all those things you told me make me sound like an uneducated dolt. Maybe Parvati can help. She doesn't use those expressions, except she says 'whatever' a lot.

There was a fight with Voldemort last week. You know, that 'Wizarding Hitler' guy I told you about. He was hurt pretty bad, almost killed. I don't think he'll be back for a while. And some of his top leaders were captured and put into prison. And one, the father of this real obnoxious guy here at school, is now wanted for attempted murder. So I guess that guy I really don't like here won't be so snooty anymore. I hope he comes around and cleans up his act.

School is still hard and we have a lot of homework. But I'll still try to write you every week like I promised. I owe you two letters for the last two weeks, but I will try to make it up to you. After all, this letter is longer than usual. Does that count?

I'll write you again soon.

Love,

Your foster son, Harry

* * *

Hannah Abbott sighed.

She hated being on patrol duty. And if her first patrol was any indication, Sunday duty had to be the worst. Weekday duty was bad enough, she supposed. But on a weekday, all you would be giving up is a little study time and some time with your friends. But Sunday duty meant you were giving up half your weekend. You couldn't really do anything on Sundays if you knew you would be on patrol from 10:00 to 2:00 that night.

So her Sunday was pretty much shot. After Sunday services in the morning, there was checking any homework still left to do. Then lunch. But if there was anything fun planned in the house, Hannah wasn't sure she should participate. After all, she would be up until after 2:00 am and would probably need a nap beforehand, like today.

And patrol duty was boring. It didn't help that she was with Jack Bletchley, the seventh-year Slytherin. Jack was dull as dishwater. The only thing he could talk about for more than two sentences was Quidditch and his exploits as a Slytherin keeper. And, to Hannah, Quidditch lost much of its attraction when Cedric Diggory died. Even though her boyfriend Ernie was on the Hufflepuff squad, she just couldn't stay interested in the match itself.

The only attraction Quidditch had for her was watching the seekers. She loved flying, and admired the grace of the Hogwarts seekers. Her favorite was seventh-year Mike Gillespie of Hufflepuff, who, like all the Hufflepuffs, emulated Cedric's fluid, effortless flying style. Too bad Cedric ended up as a keeper. Hannah swore she would pay gold just to watch him fly free as a seeker. And Mike was cut from the same mold.

She also enjoyed watching Cho Chang of Ravenclaw, who also was a graceful flyer, although not as fluid as Mike or Cedric. Hannah also loved to watch Harry Potter fly. He was probably the most powerful flyer she had ever seen. And he had the best broom, which only made him that much more interesting to watch. But Hannah found that watching him was an ordeal at times because he took so many reckless chances. She wasn't as enamoured of Draco Malfoy, who was not as good a flyer as the other three, but who tried to make up for it through rough play. She frowned at the thought. He had a great broom, but he just sat there and hovered, watching for the snitch and trailing the rival seeker, counting on the speed of the broom to outrun the opposition to the snitch. She shrugged. Malfoy played Quidditch like he did everything else, like an opportunist trying to pass as a hero, she thought.

Hannah sighed again. Another thing about Sunday duty was that it interfered with her time with Ernie. They had been sneaking out on Sunday nights for nearly a year now to be alone together. But that was out now. Ernie needed a nap even more than she did, as he had the 2:00 to 6:00 shift, despite his protests that they could still sneak out for an hour during the evening. Hannah had mixed feelings about this new development.

She dearly loved Ernie and thought that she would probably end up marrying him when they graduated. But that was three years away. And Ernie was getting a little more aggressive during their snogging sessions since they returned for their fifth year. Sure she was 15 years old--15-and-a-half--but she wasn't ready for the kinds of demands he was making. More than once she had felt it necessary to slap his hand away from where it didn't belong. And they'd had several 'discussions' about this. Discussions which recently had rapidly resulted in tears and sulks. Hannah didn't care who was doing what with whom. She would do what she felt comfortable with and no more. And Ernie was having trouble dealing with that.

She was frowning when she looked down the first floor corridor again. She didn't like the fact that only one in three torches were lit. When all the torches were lit, the shadows danced. With two thirds of them out, shadows lurked. She looked over at Jack, who had his feet up on the desk in the corridor as he casually thumbed through a Quidditch magazine.

Then, just as she was about to turn back to her history of magic text, she thought she saw a shadow move. She jerked up to look again. "Jack," she whispered urgently. "I thought I saw something."

Jack turned quickly to look in the direction of Hannah's stare. He turned back and shrugged. "Didn't see anything."

Hannah continued to stare, hoping that the shadows would morph into something friendly. She turned back to Jack. "Do you think we should check?" she asked, wide-eyed in anxiety.

Bletchley shrugged. "Why not?"

The two prefects rose and walked down the corridor past the side entrance to the library and toward the grand entrance to the castle. After looking around, they went down the stairs to the main doors. They remained locked and, after Hannah tried an unlocking charm and was satisfied that the reinforced locking charms held, Bletchley shrugged once again. "Well, I suppose it's time to make the rounds anyway," he said, and the two prefects began to wander the corridors throughout the castle.

They were already on the fourth floor when the shadow returned to the first floor and quietly entered a doorway that, until it uttered a charm, hadn't been there.

* * *

Sirius sat in his room above Hogsmeade branch of Gladrags. It was small, with just enough room to pace, but not enough to pace effectively.

There was a bed, a nightstand, a dresser and wardrobe, a desk and a chair. He had bought another small table to keep a few extra books and some pictures. It also served as a stand for the stone baseplate for when he used heating charms to cook some meager fare. Underneath the desk was a box where he kept some canned goods. Another box for perishables had a series of cooling charms to serve as a refrigerator.

Just off the room was a small, private bathroom, with a toilet and shower stall. He had paid the landlord a premium to have a private shower. There was nothing he enjoyed more than that shower. After nearly 15 years of bathing out of bowls in Azkaban or in cold streams while on the run, a hot shower as like heaven.

But that was his one luxury. And the only solace in a deadly dull life. One week here and he was ready to go mad.

He needed something to do. Dumbledore had assured him that his services to the Order of the Phoenix would be needed soon. Sirius harbored doubts. For over two years, he had been ready to act. But for virtually the entire time, he had simply sat and waited. He had reluctantly returned to his family's ancestral home at 12 Grimauld Place several times in the past few months for meetings of the Order. But he would not stay. Despite Dumbledore's assurances that this would be the one place where he would be safe, Sirius knew he would not be safe--not from the bad memories and anger that he grew up with in his youth. So he stayed just outside Hogsmeade in his cave as Snuffles, waiting.

He had told himself that Hogsmeade was the best place to be in case something happened to Harry. He also knew that he would not be called upon to do anything out in the open to help Harry for fear of exposing himself to capture. But he felt he needed to be there in case an emergency arose.

And then, an emergency did arise. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had come for Harry. And Sirius wasn't there to help. He was still in his cave, still waiting, oblivious to the threat.

And so it was now. All he could do was sit in his room and wait, oblivious of whatever threats loomed, reliant solely on Dumbledore's call to action. Sirius doubted there would be one. The Headmaster cautioned that the notoriety of Sirius's pardon--his face plastered all over the newspapers for several days, even supplanting Harry's and Parvati's exploits on the fourth day after the incident in the Forbidden Forest--made any undercover work impossible.

So Sirius sat in his room above Gladrags waiting for a call to action that he knew would not come any time soon.

He moved to the small window in his room and peered out. He could see the towers of the castle in the distance, the bulk of the school obscured by a row of shops here in Hogsmeade. He chuckled. He could see the Ravenclaw Tower and the Astronomy tower the clearest. Beyond that, he could just make out the Gryffindor Tower and the North Tower.

He was there in Hogsmeade for Harry. But he knew now that Harry would not be able to visit except on Hogsmeade weekends. Sirius knew that the local merchants had petitioned the Ministry to schedule those weekends more regularly, like in the old days. And, with the presence of Aurors on the streets of Hogsmeade and at the castle, Dumbledore had relented to Ministry pressure and agreed to scheduling student Hogsmeade visits once every two weeks.

But that left an awful lot of time in between. Sirius stood up and took the five paces forward to the wall of his room, then turned and paced the five steps back.

Oh, for something else to do.

He picked up his copy of the Daily Prophet, but promptly discarded it again. He looked out the window at the fading sun and scowled. He looked around the room again and sighed. 'What the hell,' and reached for his robe. It was time he faced the world, or at least a little corner of it, on his own. A free man.

* * *

Sirius stepped into the Three Broomsticks. It was not a hard-drinking bar like the Hogs Head. Too many students from Hogwarts celebrating Hogsmeade weekends once a month shaped the bar's character. Rather, it was not actually those once-a-month forays by students, but the memories of Hogsmeade weekends past of generations of former Hogwarts students who returned to the Broomsticks whenever they came to Hogsmeade or, for those who lived in the area, made it their regular hangout that made it what it was.

It was Hogwarts that shaped the character of the Broomsticks. The true hard drinkers felt out of place amid such a preppy wizarding crowd. Firewhiskey was cheaper, and the staff more tolerant, at the Hogs Head. You went to the Broomsticks to talk, relax, and remember first dates, first loves and loves lost. You went to the Hogs Head to drink and forget.

So it was for Sirius Black as he stepped cautiously into the Three Broomsticks. He knew he had to be careful. He had heard from members of the Order of the Phoenix during the few meetings he was able to attend, from learned people like Kingsley Shacklebolt, who theorized, and thieves like Mundungus Fletcher, who really knew, that heavy drinking right out of Azkaban or some other wizarding prison was the quickest ticket back. So he was there at the Three Broomsticks for just a couple drinks and a triple shot of memories, fellowship and good cheer.

And he was there for Madam Rosmerta.

"Sirius!" she called out to him as she turned to see him. She stepped out from behind the bar and gave him a warm hug. "How long has it been!"

Sirius leaned down into her hair. It had lost some of its blond luster over the years and was showing strands of gray. But she still was the same Ro' that he had fallen in love with when he was 15 years old.

"About three weeks," he whispered in her ear as she pushed him out to arm's length to get a better look at him.

* * *

Madam Rosmerta had been one of the few in the wizarding world who believed in Sirius's innocence. But then, Rosmerta had 25 years of hearing and keeping secrets, and discerning the underlying truths that those secrets revealed.

Her years at the Three Broomsticks meant that she was also one of the few adults privy to the secrets so carefully guarded by Hogwarts students. So when she noticed a large black dog pawing through the garbage she had left next to the magical Dispos-All bin behind the Three Broomsticks nearly two years ago, she knew it was probably him.

And so the next time Padfoot came sneaking around the back of the Three Broomsticks after hours, he found a sizable lump of ham on the back steps.

His occasional forays to this same spot over the course of several months ended when, as Padfoot, or Snuffles as Harry now knew him, he was about to grab what looked to be nearly a pound of a roast. Suddenly, Rosmerta stepped out from behind the Dispos-All and spoke. "If you expect me to feed you, you better let me know when I can expect you, Padfoot. I've probably wasted several pounds of good meat leaving it out here for you only to find you never showed up."

Sirius made to bolt, but paused and turned to give Rosmerta a sad-eyed dog look.

Rosmerta had smiled. "I know it's you. And I haven't told anyone. And I won't. So why don't you come in and I can give you a decent meal."

Thus began their ritual where Sirius, as Padfoot, would leave a bone or a rag or piece of torn cloth in a special spot behind the Three Broomsticks every two or three weeks, whenever he really needed some food or just a spot of company. He could get a late-night dinner of leftovers from the bar and the two old friends would simply chat.

Sirius would have liked more, but Rosmerta would never give him the opportunity and would never talk about herself. She was a barkeep, more just a listener. So she let him talk, which he did sparingly, or simply gave him the opportunity to eat a warm meal in the presence of someone who cared about him.

* * *

Now he was a free man, allowed to talk to respectable people in public, and Rosmerta was grateful for the end of his suffering. She smiled. "I expected you to look like a mangy dog. But you look pretty good. A little thin, but we'll fix that up soon enough. Come on, your money's no good here. I'll fix you up with something warm. What'll it be? Ale? Old Ogden's?"

Sirius smiled and shook his head. "Butterbeer. You don't know how much I missed you serving me butterbeers on cold winter nights."

Rosmerta laughed and led him to a spot in the end of the bar. She whispered to a pretty young barmaid, who proceeded to carve off slices of ham for a thick sandwich. Soon, he had the huge sandwich, along with a couple pickled eggs and onions and a pile of chips in front of him. He pulled out a stack of coins, but Ro, serving up a warm butterbeer, pushed them away.

"Hey, Ro. Come on. I just got my first payment from the Ministry. I've got money. And Dumbledore is working on getting me what the Ministry confiscated from my Gringotts account when I went away. You're looking at a gentlewizard of leisure," he said with a wry smile.

Rosmerta turned back and leaned across the bar to him. "What did they finally settle on? Monthly pension of a hundred Galleons? That seems pretty mean considering how much they took from you."

Sirius looked down and shrugged. "It was the best Albus could do," he said in a quiet voice. "You've seen the papers. They think the Ministry is nuts, giving money away to a mass murderer," he muttered bitterly.

Rosmerta sighed and reached out to grab his wrist. "There's a lot of us, those who cared about you, who knew you were innocent."

Sirius looked up at her with sad, glistening eyes. "I know, Ro. And I'll never forget that."

Rosmerta walked down to the other end of the bar to take care of another customer. Sirius sighed and watched her. She was still a beautiful woman, he thought with a small smile. And she's been through a lot, losing a husband to Voldemort and fighting those who tried to take her bar from her when she was young. And he still carried a torch for her from back in his student days. He sighed again.

She wandered back when he finished his sandwich and his butterbeer. "Another?" she asked with a fond smile.

Sirius returned her warm smile. "Sure. Oh, and Ro. Doing anything after closing?"

Slowly, a note of sadness crept into Rosmerta's smile. "I don't think that would be a good idea," she said in a soft voice.

Sirius sighed even again. "No?"

She leaned close to him. "Sirius, you're, what? Thirty-five? Well, I'm forty-four. I've got a nice guy my age. We get along together and know what we want from each other and know what we can give each other. You need someone who can help you get back into the world, who can give you back some of the youth you lost. I can't do that for you. You need to dance. I need someone to rub my feet at the end of the day. No, Sirius. Sorry."

Sirius looked at her with sad eyes and smiled. "You're still the prettiest witch I ever knew."

Rosmerta burst out laughing. "You are absolutely shameless, Sirius Black. You always were and you always will be. Here, let me get you that butterbeer."

For what seemed to be the tenth time that night, Sirius Black sighed. He turned his attention to the barmaid. She was young, but quite pretty, with a thick shock of blond hair twisted and pinned saucily at the top of her head. He gave an internal shrug and began gazing at her with a smile.

Rosmerta returned with his bottle of butterbeer. She tapped his forearm and he turned to see her smiling a little sadly again. "Sirius, could you do me one big favor?"

Sirius looked at her carefully. "You know I'd do anything for you."

She gave him a brief nod. "I know how you are," she said in a soft, kind voice. "But please, stay away from Helga. She's very young and has a nice young man. I like him. And I don't think she's ready for someone like you."

Sirius's jaw dropped and he looked back at the barmaid, who was chatting merrily with a couple of the customers at the bar.

Sirius suddenly felt light-headed.

He was suddenly fifteen again, seeing the pretty blond barmaid who was married to the jovial owner of the Three Broomsticks. Then he was sixteen, sighing that this pretty barmaid was still friendly, flirting with the students, but noticeably pregnant. The teenaged Sirius would daydream about being grown up and being married to Ro and that the child she was carrying was his. And, at nearly seventeen, the scariest moment of his young life, when Ro placed the tiny baby in his arms to hold. Sirius had never imagined something so precious and tiny and delicate being entrusted to him.

Someone as precious and tiny and delicate as Helga.

"That's...Helga?"

Rosmerta smiled at Sirius and merely nodded. "Okay?"

Sirius took a deep breath and nodded, feeling very, very old.

* * *

Sirius was still brooding over his butterbeer when he heard a voice from the back.

"Hey, you're Sirius Black. What did it feel like to kill all those people?"

Sirius turned swiftly, his wand out, to see a middle-aged wizard with rheumy eyes, looking at him expectantly...at least until he saw the wand pointed at him.

"Sirius Black!" a male voice barked from near the entrance to the bar.

Sirius now wheeled toward the new threat, only to be met with an "Expelliarmus."

He was facing a younger man in Auror's robes, who was down on one knee, leaning to his left, Sirius's right, pointing his wand at Sirius's chest.

"Calm down, Sirius," Shane Patil said in a soothing voice. Shane leaned over and grabbed Sirius's wand from the floor and stood up and walked over to the bar.

"You!" Shane said sharply, turning his wand on Sirius's middle-aged taunter. "Out!"

'The wizard looked back and forth between Shane and Rosmerta.

"Keep acting up, Cliff, and I'll ban you. Then you'll be stuck with the Hogs Head. And Jake the bartender over there isn't as forgiving as I am," Rosmerta said like an exasperated parent to an unruly child. "Go home to your wife, before she comes here to get you," she said in a milder voice.

The wizard put some coins on the bar and scurried out.

Rosmerta turned to the Auror. "Back again, Shan? I didn't think you'd be back now that you're married. Or at least I hoped you wouldn't be. Not alone, anyway," she said with a sly smile.

Shane lowered his head. "It's Shane now. And I came here looking for Sirius."

Rosmerta raised her eyebrows. "A new name, Shan? And maybe a new lifestyle?" she asked, smirking.

Shane frowned and looked embarrassed. "No. Nothing like that. I've got a couple of kids now and a third on the way. And Sirius..."

For the first time, Sirius saw Shane flustered. And the anger he was feeling at the rude wizard and being spelled by Shane slowly faded. He casually reached over and grabbed his wand back. "Okay, Red Robe. What do you want?"

Shane turned to Sirius, having nearly forgotten he was there. "Uhhh...let's get a table in the back."

Once they were seated, Helga stepped over to take their orders. Sirius asked for another butterbeer, but Shane merely asked for a sweet tea.

Sirius leaned toward Shane. "What the hell was that all about?" he asked, nodding his head toward Rosmerta. "And keep away from Helga. She's like a daughter to me."

Shane frowned as Helga dropped off their orders. He didn't even look up at her. "I don't think Madam Rosmerta ever liked me," he muttered.

"Why not," Sirius asked, now intrigued.

Shane shrugged. "She was always pulling me aside when I was a student and lecturing me about how I treated my girlfriends. I had a few girlfriends while I was at Hogwarts, but Rosmerta was always on my case."

Sirius looked at the younger man. "Don't tell me. You were a heartbreaker," he said, chuckling. "Tell me, did she ever yell at you?"

Shane shrugged. "No, not really. She would just tell me about how I should treat girls with respect and not hurt them. You know, not hurt their feelings and things like that."

Sirius snorted. "She liked you. If she was really mad, she'd yell at you. She got me good once when I was dating two girls at the same time. Told me not to come back to the bar until I made a choice." Sirius shrugged. "So I did. The girl I chose ended up breaking up with me a couple months later anyway. And Ro got James...Harry's father...real good once over Lily...Harry's mother, when they were dating here. But if she just pulled you aside to give you advice, that meant she liked you enough to care how you were acting."

Shane shrugged again.

Sirius snorted again. "And I see it didn't sink in. You have no clue."

Shane made a face.

Sirius lowered his head and stared intently at Patil. "No wonder you never caught me. You must be some Auror. You come here looking for me and I end up interrogating you. And what was that keeling-over act you put on when you disarmed me?"

Shane blinked. "Oh...well, I didn't know how quick you were and whether the disarming spell would work."

Sirius looked at him, puzzled. "So?"

Shane shrugged. "Well, most wizards are right-handed. We knew you were right-handed. And right-handed wizards, wheeling quickly to their left, tend to cast their curses high and to their victim's right. So we're taught when facing a situation like that to go low and lean left. That way, chances are any curse would go over our right shoulders and would give us a clear shot at our own curse or counter curse."

"Ravenclaw?" Sirius asked with a wry smile.

Shane nodded.

Sirius chuckled. "You sound like one. So, when does the interrogation start?"

"I didn't come here as an Auror. Maybe as a friend."

Sirius smiled to himself. "And...?"

Shane looked down at his tea. "I was just wondering about Harry and my sister."

Sirius paused and frowned. "Harry's a good kid," he said firmly.

Shane gave a half shrug. "I'm sure he is. It's just that we keep getting these mixed signals about him."

Sirius stared intently. "Such as...?"

"Well, we keep getting these whispers, and sometimes not so quiet warnings, mostly from the Ministry, that maybe that curse to the head he took when he was young scrambled Harry's brains a little. You know, that he's a little paranoid. Maybe even schizophrenic. Like a ticking time bomb."

"Balls!" Sirius exclaimed.

Shane shrugged. "There are others that say he's fine, that he's right to be paranoid--that even paranoids have enemies. And that Voldemort really is out there after him. People like the big guy at Law Enforcement, Masterson. And Cyrus Jordan. You met him. I guess they were proven right on that point."

Sirius was breathing hard, trying to hold his temper. "And you want to know who's right?" he said sarcastically.

Shane fidgeted. "I think I know. It's just that I need to be sure. It's my sister I'm concerned about."

Sirius pondered for a moment. "I don't know what you want me to tell you."

Shane sipped his tea. "Look, I just want to know if he's safe. You know, safe for her."

Sirius peered again at the Auror.

Shane was now feeling uncomfortable. "Look, I don't want this getting back to him. You know, Harry. But I think Parvati has liked him for a long time."

"What do you mean?"

Shane took a deep breath. "Well, we were all curious about him when we found out he was going to Hogwarts. You know, 'The Boy Who Lived' and all. So every time we would bring up the subject, Parvati would go on and on about how he was 'cute and mysterious,' or 'cute but a prat,' or 'cute and heroic,' or 'cute and conceited.' Then, I guess he asked her to the Yule Ball last year," he said quietly as he took another sip of his tea.

Sirius simply listened.

"You have to understand that I don't see her that often. Just occasionally during the summer and at family gatherings at Christmas. And she owls me maybe two or three times a year, usually birthdays or our wedding anniversary. But last December, I get this two-page parchment about how Harry finally asked her out and how she was going crazy about making sure she looked nice and how much fun they would have together."

Sirius shook his head and watched his new friend.

Shane took another deep breath. "Then, we--my wife Janine and the kids and I--get to the family gathering for Christmas and Parvati and Padma are both in foul moods, sniping at each other, and Parvati is going on and on about what a prat Harry is and how her roommate Hermione is a bitch and how maybe this French kid she met knows how to treat a girl. I guess things didn't work out too well between Harry and Parvati. And Padma is annoyed at Parvati over the Yule Ball for getting her hopes up over this Weasley kid and this and that. I thought it was funny, but my other sister, Shi-Shi...uh, Lakshmi, gave me hell over some flip comment I made," he said, giving a shrug.

Sirius nodded.

Shane cleared his throat. "Now I find they are suddenly a couple." He paused and looked Sirius in the eye. "I'm not worried about Parvati being able to handle herself, or whether she'll end up broken hearted and all that. She's pretty strong, and that stuff is all part of growing up. I'm just concerned that some of those stories about Harry being a little off may have something to them. It's one thing for her to sulk about the house about breaking up with a boyfriend. It's another if he might be some sort of time bomb. If he is a little off, well, Parvati likes him a lot and may miss the signs that something's wrong. She's already had to face Voldemort because of him. I don't want him to suddenly turn into some monster on her."

Sirius pursed his lips. He was ready to explode at the man across the table. But he realized that Shane was right to be concerned about his sister. Sirius rubbed his hand across his face in concentration. "I don't know what to tell you. I kept thinking of him as a shy, earnest kid who maybe would grow up like his dad."

Shane tilted his head. "What was his father like?"

Sirius looked directly at Shane. "We were pretty carefree. His dad was a rich kid, but a real good guy. A decent guy. We had our fun, but he was all right. And a good friend."

Shane paused. "And Harry...he's like that?"

"I think so. Maybe not as outgoing as his dad. And a little more serious. But that's understandable, I guess. We didn't go through what Harry has. Sure, Voldemort was out there when we were kids. It was a tense time. But he was a threat to everyone. Not like with Harry. He's been a walking target since he was born. And now he knows it. Not like Lily and James. They fought Voldemort. But they didn't have to really face up to what that meant until they were grown up, until they both lost their parents to Voldemort. And some good friends, too."

Shane merely nodded.

Sirius paused over the remnants of his butterbeer. "In Harry's case...well, there's something different about Harry. He never had a family. He was raised by Muggle relatives who didn't take care of him. Then he comes here and finds he's the focus of the whole thing now. He's faced Voldemort by himself. He's seen at least one of his friends die at Voldemort's hands. Now, it's like he's got to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe he's been forced to grow up too fast. And Parvati seems to be giving him his first chance to be a teenaged boy, to maybe have a chance to see what it's like to live a normal life."

"What do you mean?" Shane asked.

Sirius began to chuckle. "When I saw him in the hospital wing with Parvati, it was like all the pressures and fears he is facing had suddenly melted away. Like he was suddenly back to being a 15-year-old kid again. A boy who was excited, and a little bit awed, to actually have a girlfriend. You know, the deer-caught-in-an-illuminatus-charm look."

Shane joined Sirius, chuckling. Suddenly, his face turned serious again. "You don't think he's dangerous?"

"No." Sirius said, shaking his head. "The danger comes from outside. From Voldemort. From the Death Eaters. Harry is coping. And he's a decent kid. Sometimes he acts like he's older than all of us. But mostly, he just seems to want to be a kid."

Shane finished his tea and lowered his head. "I can't say I like Parvati mixed up with someone who might put her in danger," he said quietly. "I'd feel better if she was with some anonymous kid. Not at the tip of the sword." He heaved a sigh. "But then, that wouldn't be her."

Sirius smiled. "So she really is a Gryffindor."

Shane chuckled. "You know, we have horses at our estate. We all ride. But they're all mares or geldings. Not Parvati. She's got an uncut stallion. Bucephalus. No one can go near it. But she rides him like they're a single entity. Don't know how she did it," he said, shaking his head.

"Bucephalus?"

Shane chuckled. "Ox head. He was named after Alexander the Great's horse. Stubborn, ornery thing. But Parvati wouldn't have any other horse. And she tamed him. Don't ask me how."

Sirius looked down and nodded, finishing his butterbeer. He looked up and caught Helga's eye. "Another tea?"

Shane shook his head. "Ale."

As Helga wandered over, Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "Make it ale. Two pints."

Shane looked up and smiled. "No butterbeer buzz?"

Sirius chuckled. "Well, I'm a little out of practice with alcohol, so it would probably only take about two dozen to give me a buzz."

Shane joined him in chuckling. "Nothing better on a cold winter day than a nice warm, foamy butterbeer. So if I'm back here in January, I'll let you buy me one. Until then, I'll stick to ale."

Sirius nodded, then smiled. "You know, your Parvati is very pretty. But she's seems to be pretty tough-minded," Sirius said. Then he looked up at Shane with a hint of mischief in his eye. "Maybe I should be wondering whether to protect Harry from her."

Shane flinched. "He's not out for a quick shag?"

Sirius took a deep breath and looked across the bar to Helga. "I don't think so. Was that all you were after when you were here?"

Shane blushed noticeably. "I wasn't that bad."

Sirius nodded. "Harry's a good kid. I suppose he wouldn't say no to a girl...well, if he liked her. But I think he just needs a girlfriend. Someone who will be there for him. To be 'his' girl. So I don't think you need to worry."

Shane took a deep breath. "Well, I guess that's about what I expected. And better than what I feared." Suddenly, he chuckled again. "God, I'm glad I'm not a teenager anymore."

The two settled in to a companionable silence as Helga served them another round.

Shane cleared his throat. "I also wondered if maybe you could help us."

"Who's 'us'?"

Shane took a thoughtful sip of his pint. "Aurors."

Sirius frowned. "What kind of help?"

Shane paused again. "Well, some help about how you managed to keep from getting caught. I suppose we were pretty inept. There were a few of us who thought...well, maybe you shouldn't be caught. I wasn't so sure, but some people I respect in the service seemed to be sending subtle signals that maybe you shouldn't be caught. But the Ministry was going nuts, at least at the beginning. So we did our best until the angry owls from No. 10 Merlin Circle let up."

Sirius nodded. "Fudge must have had a heart attack when I got out. But I didn't see too much activity in the past year or so. I was scared that I might start getting complacent."

Shane smiled and gave a half shrug. "We had enough gung-ho types that always seemed to be hot on your trail all over the U.K. and Ireland. We had one who swore he saw you in Diagon Alley and actually took a job in a chemist shop just to watch for you."

Sirius lowered his head. "I haven't been in Diagon Alley in nearly 15 years."

Shane fiddled with a condensation ring on the table. "What I'm saying is that you had us chasing our tails for over two years. We could really use your help at the Auror Academy for the new people and some of us older types who go up there for a refresher. It's not much. They pay 25 Galleons a day for consultancy. You could probably do a couple days a month. But it would really help us."

Sirius put his head down. Did he really want to help the Red Robes? But this would give him something to do, something to look forward to. Not like a real job, but who would hire a suspected mass murderer, someone who did hard time in Azkaban? He looked up at the Auror. "I'll think about it. But it seems like a decent deal. Just let me know what you need and I'll tell you if I think I can do it."

Shane looked up. "There's one more thing. You've probably been around the underworld more than any of our people. Maybe sometime you could help me out with my work undercover."

Sirius looked at Shane with a startled expression. "You? Undercover?"

Shane nodded, a small smile forming at the sides of his mouth. "It's the one thing I can do well. I was undercover for two years in P-Town. That is, until they pulled me to chase you."

Sirius gave him a quizzical look. "Portsmouth?"

Shane gave Sirius a wary smile. "I'm pretty good." Then he chuckled. "You have to understand my family. Somehow, I think through my mum, we all caught something of a theatrical bug. You met my brothers? Monkey--Hanuman--is always play-acting, obsessing is probably a better word, on something, like being a Sikh or playing Mr. Ministry Man or whatever. My youngest brother thinks he's going to be the next Quidditch star, but couldn't make any of the pro teams here. So now he is busy trying to get a try-out with the Indian National Quidditch Team," he said laughing into his mug. "My oldest brother wants nothing more than to be a stage actor, but he doesn't dare tell dad about it. After all, he's the heir apparent. Parvati wanted to be a prima ballerina. The theatrical gene must have bypassed my other two sisters, Padma and Lakshmi, although I bet if you scratched the surface, you'd find Shi-Shi or Padma have some secret ambition to be an opera singer or exotic dancer or something like that. And me? I get off going undercover, playing the gangster wizard. Except in my business, you don't get bad reviews. You get cursed, or worse."

Sirius smiled thoughtfully at the Auror. "I don't know how much I could help you. But I do know some people I can introduce you to. I'll see what I can do," he said with a more genuine smile.

Maybe life won't end up as dreary as he had feared, Sirius thought.

* * *

The owls swooped down for their daily mail deliveries. Malfoy didn't look up. There would be no mail for him today. Or ever. So he was surprised when a nondescript, wizarding postal service barn owl swooped down and dropped a letter in his lap.

He scooped up the letter and held it out. He blinked. It was from his aunt, or at least that was what she was referred to, even though she was more like a second cousin, once removed. Carmina Malfoy Delaney.

Or at least that was who it was presumed to be from. But the parchment bore a return address as from Carmina M. Delaney. A chill went through Draco's body. Aunt Carmina would never abbreviate her maiden name. He closed his eyes and quickly stuffed the letter in his robe.

Back in this dorm, Draco opened the letter.

Dearest Draco,

I hope you are bearing up in this time of tragedy. Just remember, I will always be there for you if you need me.

Love,

Aunt Carmina

Draco stepped to the door and quickly checked the common room. Greinglass and Blythe were not there. So he stepped back into the dorm and set the letter on his desk. He took out his wand and tapped the letter three times.

"Draconis, heres ex asse serpens."

The words in the letter slowly reformed.

Draco picked it up and read.

Son,

Deliver or destroy the boy and you will be rewarded beyond your dreams. Destroy his slut and earn a father's eternal gratitude.

L.

Draco leaned back on his chair. He read the letter again and frowned. Suddenly, he leaned forward and spit on the letter and tossed it on the desk.

"Incendio."

His face darkened as the letter burned intensely, leaving little but the smell of smoke.

"I don't need rewards," he growled. "I don't need gratitude."

He took a deep breath.

"What I do, I do for me. And for mum."